


Every Breath a Prayer

by Ahaviel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-divergent after 14x18 (Absence), Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues (Supernatural), Castiel Remembers How to Be a Badass, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel's Biblical Memories, Castiel-centric (Supernatural), DCBB 2019, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), Flashbacks, Grace Bond, Grace Sharing, Hand Jobs, Hebrew, M/M, Memory Loss, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Past Brainwashing, Past Torture, Physical Abuse (Past), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Series Castiel (Supernatural), Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Strong references to 6x20 (The Man Who Would Be King), Switching (sort of), Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahaviel/pseuds/Ahaviel
Summary: With Mary dead and Jack missing, Castiel goes in search of God. But what Chuck claims will help instead tears Castiel apart, leaving him feeling more broken and useless than ever. As he tries to put the pieces of himself back together with help from Sam and Dean, he comes to realize that memory is a double-edged sword, and blessings can look and act a lot like curses. Reclaiming all of his lost pieces is going to take more than courage. It will force him to admit truths he’s avoided for far too long, and ask for the one thing he’s certain he can’t have.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 59
Kudos: 227
Collections: DCBB 2019, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> __   
**A/N: Unless you are Sam Winchester and need to help an angel with PTSD before tracking down Lucifer's son, do NOT attempt EMDR on your own, either as a practitioner or a client. While this fic is based on over two years of actual EMDR therapy, it is in no way a training for EMDR. Please see a licensed EMDR clinician in your area if you think this might be a good fit for you, or visit <https://www.emdria.org> for more information.**
> 
> _Welcome to my third DCBB! I want to express my deepest thanks to the insanely talented Gio for her brilliant artwork. Thank you _so_ much for choosing my fic to illustrate! You can find her on Tumblr at <https://sketching-fox.tumblr.com/> and on Twitter at <https://twitter.com/Gio_Gui>. _
> 
> _Additional thanks go to Scribo_Vivere, WitchyWishes, and Freeagentgirl for their encouragement, ideas, and entertainment while I was writing. You rock!_  

> 
> _And as always, many many thanks to the DCBB mods, Muse and Diamond, who somehow have kept (most of) their sanity while running this challenge. You are awesome, and I do not want your job._
> 
> _Fic banner by Ahaviel_
> 
> _This fic was written specifically for the 2019 Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge_
> 
> _Please note that the last chapter (Chapter 19) is notes, trivia, and references from the story._
> 
> * * *
> 
> This is a work of fanfiction. Characters are the intellectual property of the copyright holders of _Supernatural_ produced by Kripke Enterprises and Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc. and are used under the fair use exemption as a non-commercial derivative work. Original character names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> * * *

“Good morning, Sam,” Castiel said, finding Sam nursing a cup of coffee in the kitchen. “Do you know where Dean is?”

“Now’s not a good time, Cas.”

“I know he’s still grieving the loss of Mary. As, I’m sure, are you. I haven’t spoken to him since her funeral. I want him to know—”

“Yeah, Cas. I know.” Sam set his coffee down and shook his head slightly. “It’s not your fault. Yeah, I wish you’d said something sooner, but we all had responsibility for Jack. It’s not on your shoulders, man. And it’s still not a good time. Not for Dean.”

“You know he left last night?” Castiel pressed, unable to quell his concern for Dean’s safety.

“He probably went somewhere to be alone for a bit. Hasn’t been exactly private around here lately. And yes, before you say it, I know he was drinking last night too. He’ll be lucky to have just a hangover when he wakes. Another reason why now is not a good time.” Sam stood, effectively ending the conversation.

“Then I will try again to contact God. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Castiel turned to leave, but Sam was faster, grabbing his coat sleeve long enough for Castiel to stop and turn around.

“You tried before, right? How is this time going to be different?”

“No one else can fix Jack,” Castiel said, hearing his own frustration. “I am open to other suggestions. Dean and Bobby simply want Jack dead.”

Sam exhaled sharply. “I get it. I don’t have any other ideas. And I can’t honestly think straight right now. This thing with Mom…” Sam nodded a few times and visibly swallowed. “I guess I’m not really in a great place either.”

“Would my staying bring you comfort?” Castiel asked, knowing he would stay if asked.

“No. Not because it’s you. Just… No one can really bring me comfort right now. I think I just need some time to process, you know?”

“Then you process your grief, keep an eye on Dean, and I will find God. I will not fail you two again.”

“Cas, you don’t have anything to make up to us,” Sam said.

“I do, Sam. In my eyes, I do.”

Castiel grabbed the keys to the truck and left the bunker, but immediately found his first obstacle: where was he going to go? Humans frequently talked about finding God, who seemed to have little interest in answering his angels. Or perhaps it was that God didn’t consider Castiel much of an angel anymore, and therefore unworthy of answering. Always a possibility. Still, he had to try. So, perhaps a mix of faith communities and some very smart people who might know how to help. At least, that seemed like just as good a plan as tracking down Methuselah and calling out to God while holding a necklace.

A few taps on his phone later, he knew that Manhattan, Kansas, had no fewer than two dozen churches, a synagogue, and a mosque. And a university with a renowned religious studies professor in their philosophy department. At only two-and-a-half hours away, he could do this and be back by nightfall.

The churches were a bust. According to them, he didn’t need God, he needed Jesus. When they told him that angels were New Age hippie nonsense, and that Jesus was the only answer, he knew he wasn’t going to get any useful information. He wanted to tell them what he knew was the truth about Yeshua ben Yosef, but that might have opened something bigger than the proverbial can of worms.

The synagogue wasn’t much better. The rabbi there told him that the way to God was through prayer, study, and charity, and that it wasn’t achieved overnight. It took decades. A lifetime. Castiel saw no reason to commit decades to calling for his father. Jack didn’t have decades.

The imam at the mosque was a delightful conversationalist, but had no ready answers. “It is not about finding Allah,” he’d said. “It is about submitting to Allah’s will, about living a life in accordance with it. This is all. The teaching that Muhammad—_alayhi as-salam—_received from the angel Jibril is clear on this.”

“Jibril,” Castiel said, the name now feeling long-forgotten. “Gabriel. Of course. He’s…uh…dead now.”

“What?”

“Unfortunately, Lucifer killed him. Again. Thank you for your time.”

Castiel was able to find a parking space in the lot behind Dickens Hall, where the religious studies professor’s office was. He eyed the hundred-year-old tan brick building, its lines and arches evoking the very essence of academia. The professor’s office was on the third floor, and he trudged up the steps, hoping for some lead to follow. The last thing he wanted was to come back to Sam and Dean empty-handed.

He double-checked the door number and the name plate, then knocked.

“Yeah,” a male voice called out.

Castiel opened the door. “Professor, I’ve come to—”

“Find me?” Chuck asked. He wore jeans and a red sport coat over a light blue button-down shirt. And dark-rimmed glasses. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that, Castiel.”

“You don’t wear glasses,” Castiel said, immediately suspicious.

“Too much?” Chuck asked. “I was going for the absent-minded professor look.” He held one arm up. “I even got elbow patches!” Lowering his arm, he frowned. “It’s overdone, isn’t it? Too cliché. I knew it. Less is more, right?” He sat down behind the desk and took his glasses off, resting them on the desktop. “So. You got me.”

“It’s Jack. He’s—”

“Yeah,” Chuck said, dragging the word out. “Tragic, isn’t it? Such innocence, but then, just under the surface… It’s thrilling to see this play out.”

“I need you to fix him.” Castiel knew he should watch how he addressed his creator, his father, but it’s not like he’d ever had a real conversation with him before. “Please. You can restore his soul.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Castiel. I really can’t. Free will and all, you know? He’s where he is because of his choices. I can’t interfere in that.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

Chuck gave him a half-smile. “Same difference either way, isn’t it? But you…” He stood up and came around the desk, then leaned his hip against the front edge, looking up at Castiel. “You and I haven’t had much chance to talk. You’ve always been riding shotgun to someone else when I’ve seen you. I should’ve given you a shout-out when I had my sit-down with Lucifer. My bad.”

“I—”

“You know, I’ve told Sam and Dean that they’ve got this. Whichever _this_ this is. Any of them. All of them. But you’ve got this too. You’re good for them. It’s why I keep sending you back. Except last time. Jack actually beat me to the punch on that one.”

“I still don’t know why. I’m no real use to them anymore.”

“Well, that’s one you’re going to have to figure out on your own,” Chuck said. “I can tell you this much: I didn’t bring you back right away because of Dean. He had some things to figure out. If Jack hadn’t woken you up—and a stellar job on annoying the cosmic entity, by the way—I’d have let Dean stew a little longer. But you _are _good for him. For both of them. When you’re not beating yourself up, that is.”

Castiel bowed his head, even considered kneeling. “You must know my transgressions.”

“Oh, I do,” Chuck said, sounding almost happy.

“Then why would you bring me back even once?”

“You figured it out, Castiel. Free will, not blind obedience. Wrestling with moral relativism. Most of the other angels couldn’t handle that, but you…you embraced it and ran with it. You’re my angelic success story.”

“You…_wanted _me to choose?”

“Of course. That’s why I never answered you on that park bench. Or any of the other times you’ve called me.”

“Then why now?”

“Because now I can do something for you.”

“Jack…” Castiel began.

“No, not Jack. Just you, Castiel. Come here.”

Instantly, Castiel felt on the defensive, even as his mind argued that here, with Chuck, of all people, he should obey without question. He hesitated.

“It’s okay, Castiel. I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve been hurt too many times before. I can see that. They punished you, didn’t they?”

A flurry of painful memories that Castiel would be happy to never remember again flashed to the surface. “They called it _re-education_.”

“Yeah. No. That’s not re-education. That’s torture. They hurt you so many times, you don’t even really remember how to be an angel anymore.”

Castiel felt terror stab through him. “I don’t want to lose my memories with Sam and Dean.”

“No, Castiel. You’re not going to lose anything. You’ve lost too much already. I’m going to give it back to you, undo the damage they caused. It’ll be easier to trust yourself, to know exactly who and what you are. And you may find your answer for Jack too.” Chuck motioned with his hand. “Come here.”

Reluctantly, Castiel moved closer. Chuck raised his hand, palm out, and gently set it against Castiel’s forehead. There was the subtlest of shifts, but other than that, Castiel didn’t feel anything.

When Chuck lowered his hand, Castiel asked, “Should I feel differently? I don’t feel any change.”

“It’ll take a little time,” Chuck said. “You should go back to Sam and Dean now.”

Castiel looked away before admitting, “But I have questions.”

“And those can be answered during office hours,” said a clean-shaven man behind the desk with a slight Hispanic accent. “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Which today, being Thursday, is not. Are you even one of my students?”

Castiel looked around the office, but Chuck was gone. And where this guy—the actual professor, Castiel surmised—had come from, he had no idea.

“My apologies, Professor. I believe I’m in the wrong office.”

Without looking back, Castiel returned to his truck.


	2. Chapter Two

“He went _where_?” Dean growled, waiting for the caffeine to kick in any time now.

“To find God,” Sam said from across the kitchen table.

“Again?”

“He still thinks he has something to prove to us,” Sam explained. “He even said as much.”

“Yeah, well…”

“And you were kind of shitty to him,” Sam added. “So I can understand why he didn’t want to be around you.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Dean reached behind him for the coffeepot to refill his mug. “Dean sucks. End of story.”

“It’s not about you, Dean. Right now, it’s about Jack.”

“Who Cas knew was trouble. _Weeks _ago, when we could’ve done something about it.”

“I’m going to tell you again,” Sam said, sounding obnoxiously rational. “It’s not Cas’ fault. Should he have told us sooner? Yeah. Of course. Did he already have a clue how you’d react, that you’d go all terminator on Jack? Probably that too. And did he deserve you telling him he was dead to you? God, Dean, do you even _remember_ how miserable you were last fall, when Cas was dead? I do. I have _never _seen you grieve someone like you did him. Not Dad. Not Bobby. Not even Mom, now.”

“All right, all right. Fine, okay? I’ll apologize or whatever. Cool your jets.” He swallowed some more coffee, his stomach churning, though from acid or guilt, he wasn’t interested in finding out. “Meanwhile, we gotta find Jack and neutralize him.”

“Neutralize? Really, Dean?”

“Not like that.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Or maybe like that. We got that box I built. Could keep him safe until we figure out what to do with him.”

Sam slammed the table with both hands as he stood up. “I don’t _believe_ you! I wasn’t willing to put you in the Ma’lak box, and I’m not willing to put Jack in there. We’ll figure something else out.”

“Like what, Sam?” Dean retorted, also standing. “He _killed Mom_. That alone puts him on my shit list. And he’s the most powerful being on the planet. With no soul. Nothing to tell him the difference between good and evil.”

“Maybe Cas will have some luck.”

“I’m not counting on it.” Dean took his mug over to the sink and rinsed it, feeling nothing but irritation and anger. “We gotta handle this ourselves. Like we always do.”

* * *

Castiel was just passing the Highway 81 interchange when it started. Two overpasses—light-dark-light-dark-light as he drove under them—and then the road before him faded into another scene. A dusty mountain trail. He was trailing a father and son. On foot. But there were no mountains in Kansas.

“Abba, where is the _korban_?” the son asked.

“El will provide,” his father answered. “Quiet. No more.”

_Noooo…_ Castiel felt a hollowness in his stomach, and searched for the highway he was supposed to be driving on. He caught what appeared to be a turnout, and steered the truck into it, heart pounding.

He remembered all too clearly what had happened all those years ago. The father—Avraham—was told to sacrifice his son, Yitzhak. A test, of sorts. Castiel couldn’t bear to see a child used as a pawn, even if Heaven had assured him Avraham had what they’d been waiting for: the courage to defy God. Avraham was too certain of his mission, that was clear. But the boy… Perhaps he could escape, if Castiel could convince him to run away, back to his mother.

Making himself visible only to the boy, he fell into step beside him. “Fear not,” he began, as the boy startled upon seeing him. “I am an angel of the Lord. I have an important message for you.”

The boy stopped and began to prostrate himself.

“No,” Castiel said, stopping him. “Stay with your father. He mustn’t know I’m here.”

The boy glanced at his father, then back at Castiel, a questioning look on his face.

“It is dangerous for you here. Not for your father, but for you. You must take leave. Return home to your mother. Quickly.”

“But Abba—” the boy began, speaking to Castiel.

“_Shtok!_”

Yitzhak fell silent as his father ordered. He glanced behind him, back down the path, then at his father, but the fear on his face spoke volumes. Running to alleged safety was more frightening than staying with his father.

“Castiel!”

Castiel turned to the new voice. “Gabriel.”

“What are you doing here?” Gabriel demanded. “There’s a plan; I’ve got this. You’re cramping my style.”

“I won’t see this child harmed,” Castiel said.

“You won’t, Cassie. You don’t have to meddle to do that. Have a little faith, bro.” Gabriel paused, then winced. “They know you’re here. You need to go back. Report to Naomi.”

Castiel nodded silently.

“This’ll stay between us,” Gabriel said. “Now scoot. I’ve got a ram to find.”

Castiel returned to Heaven obediently. With fresh explicitness, he remembered Naomi’s disappointed scowl. The chair. The drill. And the pain.

Castiel regained consciousness in a partial recline in the truck’s front seat. His head was pounding, a sharp pain in one eye. He could barely see, but he could tell dark was approaching. He managed to pull his phone out of his pocket and pull up what he hoped was Dean’s number. Or at least, whomever he’d called last.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice answered immediately. “Where are you?”

“Past…highway…eighty-one. Something’s…wrong. Dean. I…can’t…”

“Okay, hang tight, Cas. I’m gonna talk to Sam real quick and I’ll come get you. We’ll deal with the truck later.”

“…hurts…” Castiel managed to say as nausea rolled through him.

“Just hang on, Cas. I’m on my way.”

* * *

“Cas called?” Sam asked, looking up from his laptop.

“Yeah. He doesn’t sound good. Like, Michael’s-lance-in-the-barn not good.”

“He say where he is?” Sam asked, tapping something on the computer.

“Just past Highway 81, but I don’t know what road he’s on.”

“Got it. I put a GPS tracker on his truck last year. He’s on US 24.” Sam closed the laptop lid and stood in one fluid motion. “I’ll drive his truck back.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

* * *

Castiel felt the darkness close in as the pain continued to pound away inside his skull. There was no reason for him to feel this pain. There was no reason to have remembered that memory in such startling, graphic clarity. Perhaps he was even more broken than he’d thought. Perhaps that’s what Chuck was trying to show him: just how far he’d fallen. He allowed the dark to take over, floating on the edge of the pain, and began to understand why the eternal sleep of the Empty could be desirable.


	3. Chapter Three

“Can’t you go any faster?” Sam complained from the passenger seat, his eyes focused on his phone.

“I’m already pushing ninety,” Dean retorted. “And you told me ten minutes ago that highway patrol had speed traps set up here.”

“That was an hour ago, Dean.”

“Whatever. How long until we get there?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes at this rate.”

Dean set his jaw and pushed Baby up to a hundred.

He saw Cas’ truck parked at an angle in some sort of pull-out off the highway, but it looked empty. Even pulling up alongside it, he could see no movement inside. “Dammit, Cas, where are you?” he muttered.

He was out of the car and at the truck before Sam even unfolded his freakishly long limbs, and what he saw instantly had him wrenching the truck door open. “Cas!” After no response, he turned back to Sam. “Grab the first aid kit and the smelling salts.”

Cas was unconscious, collapsed over on his side while still being buckled in. A trail of dried blood trickled out from the inner corner of his left eye, and he was covered in a sheen of perspiration. Dean had only seen him sweat one other time, back in that barn after he’d been stabbed by Michael’s lance. For an angel who claimed not to sweat under any circumstances, he was looking both human and sick.  
  


Sam pressed the smelling salt capsule into his hand and Dean snapped it in half, waving it under Cas’ nose. For a moment, Cas didn’t respond, then suddenly recoiled, looking like a frightened, wild animal as he tried to scramble away from Dean, hampered by the seat belt.

“No!” Cas whimpered, his blue eyes wide but unseeing. “No, please! Don’t!”

“Cas, buddy, it’s me. Dean.” Dean held his hands up, hoping Cas would take the submissive gesture for what it was.

Breathing erratically, Cas continued to whimper until his face cleared and his eyes focused. “D—Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy. It’s me. I’ve got you now.”

“I… Where am I?”

“Middle of fucking nowhere, Kansas,” Dean answered. “I’m gonna drive you home. Sam’ll take your truck. Can you unbuckle your seat belt?”

After blinking several times, Cas seemed to take stock of his situation and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He released the seat buckle and started to climb out.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said, ready to lend a hand.

“Sam,” Cas said. His voice was tremulous and his hands shook, but he resisted any sort of help, and Dean figured he’d be there if Cas needed it, but he’d otherwise give him the dignity of doing it himself.

Once Cas was safely seated in the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean relaxed a bit. One challenge down. Next: get Cas home and figure out what the hell happened. He looked at Sam. “You good to drive the truck?”

Sam smiled grimly and nodded once. “See you back there.”

Tapping Baby’s roof a couple times with his hand, Dean nodded to himself and then climbed in. He checked Cas over; other than the dried blood from his eye, he seemed uninjured. But clearly _something _had happened.

“Cas?” Dean eased the Impala back out onto the highway and headed west. “Can you tell me what happened? Anyone we gotta be on the lookout for?”

“Y—” Cas paused and looked at his lap for several long moments. “No. No one.”

“Don’t do that,” Dean warned. “Don’t shut me out. You were fine when you left. Pissed off, even, from what Sam said. And you had every right to be. I was a dick. I was angry and…and… I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I did,” Cas said, so softly Dean could barely hear him. “I should have told you sooner about the snake. I put Jack’s welfare before Mary’s. Before yours.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “Jack wasn’t solely your responsibility. We all had a part to play.”

Despite his obvious distress, Cas managed to quirk an eyebrow up. “You have never been interested in _playing your part_.”

“Still… It wasn’t all on you. Okay? And…I’m sorry I made it that way.”

Cas nodded once, wincing as he did. “Thank you. I accept your apology.”

“You gonna tell me what happened? Maybe start with where you went.”

After a long silence, Cas spoke. “I went to Manhattan. Kansas.” At Dean’s questioning look, he added, "I spoke to a priest, a rabbi, and an imam.”

“Is this the lead-in to a joke, Cas?”

“No. Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“I went looking for God.”

“Sam said as much,” Dean confirmed, then snapped his mouth shut at Cas’ glare.

“I found Chuck. At the university. He had temporarily usurped a religious studies professor’s role.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“He said some things. That he was going to give something back to me. He seemed…unimpressed with the re-education in Heaven.” Cas fell silent, watching him for several minutes. “You can speak now, Dean.”

“What did he give back to you?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Did he say anything else to you?”

“Yes.”

“Like?” Dean prompted, wondering why Cas was being even more reticent than usual.

“I would rather not share it at this time.”

“Oh.” Dean focused on his driving, trying to figure out what else to ask. “So, what’s with the…?” He waved his hand around his own eye.

Cas touched his finger to the blood trail. “After I left the university, I had…a memory? It was from your Middle Bronze Age.”

“The _Bronze Age_? That was, like, four thousand years ago.”

“Yes, Dean. I had this memory as if I was there again. I have not thought about that event in ages, but it was extremely clear.”

“And, what, you got stabbed in the eye back then?” Dean met another of Cas’ glares for as long as he dared before returning his attention to the road. “Fine. Tell your story, man.”

“I thought I was preventing harm to a child. Gabriel stopped me.”

“Gabriel?” Dean caught himself. “Of course he was there. Sorry. Keep going.”

“My actions did not go unnoticed. I was ordered to return to Heaven for re-education.”

“Re—?” Dean blew out a breath. “Son of a bitch. They reset you.”

Cas didn’t answer, but Dean caught his nod.

“Naomi?”

“Yes. Just as I remembered the events of four thousand years ago as if I was there again, I…”

Dean felt his lips curl in disgust. “You remembered what she did to you too. Like you were back there.”

Cas’ answer was almost quiet enough to miss. “Yes.”

For a few moments, Dean had to wrestle his own memories down, keeping his mind firmly focused on the present, on the highway in front of him, Sam driving the truck not far behind. “That was a flashback, Cas. Fucking Chuck. Why the hell would he give you flashbacks?”

“These…flashbacks… You know about them?”

“Yeah. Had some of ‘em myself. You know, after Hell. Good news is that they eventually fade. Lose their power. Bad news is that they suck big time.”

“How long did you have them?”

“Well… Still do, sometimes. If something triggers them…” Dean shrugged.

“Nothing triggered this, Dean. There were no similarities between what I was doing or where I was, and those memories.”

“Figure Chuck is behind them. Whatever he did to you.” A cold dread suddenly filled Dean’s veins. “He didn’t reset you too, did he?”

“No. In fact, I told him I didn’t want to lose any memories of you and Sam. He said he wasn’t going to take anything away, but return something to me instead. The _resetting_, as you call it, removed memories, feelings, experiences. A clean, cold, unfeeling slate on which to write new orders.”

“But you said you already remembered this four-thousand-year-old memory.”

“I never forgot it, if that’s what you’re saying. But I haven’t thought about it in a long time either.”

Dean glanced over. Cas seemed more relaxed, less terrified. The angel had faced monsters, demons, had his own experience of Hell that they’d never talked about, so whatever Naomi had done, whatever had spooked him, had to have been worse than any of those other things. Dean didn’t even want to think about what that might mean.

“How you feeling now, buddy?” Dean asked.

“Better, thank you. I appreciate you coming to get me. I know it’s not what you had planned for today.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. I’m glad you called. Woulda been worse if you’d gone off the grid after leaving pissed off with me. It’s always worse when I don’t know where you are,” Dean admitted.

“Aww, you care.”

“’Course I care!” Dean leveled a glare at Cas, then saw the hint of a smile playing around his mouth. “Shut up. We still have an hour to go.” He switched on the stereo and Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused” filled the interior.


	4. Chapter Four

“You found Chuck?” Sam asked as he entered the war room, his excitement already grating on Castiel’s nerves.

“Yes.”

“Well, what did he say? Anything about Jack?”

“Sam, give him a chance to get settled, why don’t you?” Dean muttered. He started toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna order some pizza for dinner.”

“It was not terribly exciting,” Castiel informed Sam as he sank into a chair. “He had nothing to offer about Jack, other than he is where he is because of his choices. He said it was thrilling to see this play out.”

“Thrilling? But he’s God! If God’s not going to help Jack…”

“He’s not,” Castiel said. “And I don’t think he cares one way or another. He just wants us to choose.”

“But that’s an impossible choice,” Sam argued. “How are we supposed to choose when there are no good choices? Either Jack kills others, or we kill him. And he’s still family.”

“I agree. I tried to negotiate—” Castiel broke off as the room and the chair suddenly tilted at a dizzying angle. He grabbed the arms of the chair to keep from falling, but it seemed he and the chair and the entire bunker were tumbling through space.

He landed under a tree, Gabriel on one side and Raphael on the other. A middle-aged man stood in front of him, holding out bowls with freshly cooked beef and a warm slice of cake-bread. Raphael, ever impatient, demanded, “Where is your wife, Sarah?”

The man indicated the structure behind him. “There. In the tent.”

Gabriel looked longingly at the cake-bread, then at the man. “I will return when the season comes around, and there will be a son to Sarah.”

They ate, because it was the polite thing to do in this culture, and also because they were not to give the man any additional reason to doubt his sanity. God had plans for him, if he passed this next test. Across angel radio, Castiel received their next orders: Go down to Sodom and Gomorrah and see if the reports are true, that they catered to and idolized the rich, while ignoring the poor and homeless. If true, destroy them all; they are beyond saving.

The man’s eyes seemed to stare off into space for a moment, then he turned to the tent. “Why did you laugh?”

Sarah peeked out from the entrance, guilt written all over her face. “I didn’t laugh.”

“You did laugh,” the man chastised gently. He returned his attention to Castiel and his companions. “I’ll see you off.”

Castiel couldn’t remain quiet. Too many innocent lives were at stake. “God is angry with the actions of the privileged inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah. He is going to destroy the cities and everyone in them.”

“Everyone?” the man asked, clearly startled at this comment.

“Castiel!” Gabriel hissed. “Ixnay on odsgay ansplay!”

Castiel was committed. “You can stop it.”

“I will need to report this,” Raphael warned.

“How?” The man seemed genuinely upset.

“God will not destroy innocent lives.” Castiel hoped he wasn’t promising a lie.

“That’s it,” Raphael snapped. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Castiel could hear Raphael’s furious report over angel radio, followed by Raphael returning to Heaven, but ignored it.

“But you just said—” the man argued.

“If there are fifty innocent people. Or forty.” Castiel gave the man his most intense look. “Or even ten. I cannot say more. The rest is up to you.” Castiel hurried off after Gabriel, trying not to think about being reported. Was it insubordination? He hadn’t explicitly been ordered not to talk to the man, Avraham. It wasn’t disobedience, really. Just maybe…a loophole.

Once out of human sight, Castiel and Gabriel flew to an area just outside the gate to Sodom. They waited until sundown, on Gabriel’s instructions. It wasn’t unusual for an archangel to receive orders that lower classes of angels wouldn’t receive, so Castiel didn’t question it. When they approached the gate, another man met them, immediately insisting that they stay with him for the night.

“We don’t want to inconvenience you or your family,” Castiel said politely. “We’ll stay in the square.”

“No, you mustn’t!” the man said. “We have plenty of room, and we’ll prepare a feast.”

Gabriel rubbed his hands together. “A feast! Of course, we’ll stay with you!”

“Gabriel,” Castiel cautioned quietly. “We are not here to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Eh.” Gabriel shrugged. “It would be impolite to turn him down.” He followed the man—Lot—into the city, and gestured for Castiel to catch up.

Around them, it was immediately clear there was a problem. In the city square, a central courtyard for community gatherings, a crowd of unwashed people begged passersby for food. Each of them had a hopeless, dead look in their eyes, and Castiel could feel the despair coming off of them in waves that rivaled the stench of sweat and dirt. Those who had more than enough, whose clothing was newer and without holes, who had a healthy glow to their skin from sufficient nutrition, avoided the beggars, not even sparing them a compassionate glance.

Castiel felt guilt gnaw at him. Here, they were about to be blessed with a feast simply for being strangers in this city, by a man who clearly had enough, and yet these hungry people, many of whom were women and children, would see no feast tonight.

“I beg of you to indulge me for a moment, my lords,” Lot said, stopping near a collection of carts selling various fruits and breads. “I cannot pass by these people without doing what I can. I am under obligation to my god, El.”

Gabriel smiled and bowed his head once, while Castiel spoke. “Please. Do as you must.”

They watched as Lot exchanged some coins for several loaves of bread and a basket of fruit, then went to the crowd and began handing out rations, making sure the children and nursing mothers received fruit. Once his hands were empty again, Lot nodded to them. “Thank you. We may continue.”

“It is we who must thank you,” Castiel said. “Are there not others who would feed these people?”

“Too many see themselves a higher class,” Lot explained. “They don’t want to lose what they have, nor do they see those who are without as deserving.”

“It is _they_ who are not deserving,” said Castiel.

“And karma’s a bitch,” Gabriel added, too softly for Lot to hear.

* * *

A feast they had, with the choicest meats, flatbread, tender fruits, freshly-pressed olive oil, and wine. For the briefest of moments, Castiel almost forgot why they were there, and that soon, this city would no longer be standing.

Pounding on the door and yelling alerted them to a disturbance at the front of the house. “Please excuse me,” Lot said, rising from the table and going to the door.

“Where are the men who came here?” shouted a man from the crowd. “Bring them out!”

“I want the pretty one!” another man shouted.

“Must mean me,” Gabriel said, looking unconcerned. Castiel merely rolled his eyes.

They watched as Lot went outside and shut the door, but the barrier didn’t block Castiel’s angelic hearing.

“Do not do this wicked thing,” Lot was pleading with the crowd.

“We make the rules here,” a man shouted. “We have the money, the power, and the right. So bring them out. We’ll show them some hospitality.”

The crowd laughed.

“We’re not leaving until we get some!” another man yelled.

“I…I have two daughters,” Lot began slowly. “They have never known a man. I will bring them out if you insist.”

“We can get women anywhere we want,” scoffed a man. “We want these two.”

“I want the taller one!”

“No, I do!”

“We’ll both do him at once!”

“And then we’ll do you!”

“How many of us you think Lot can take at once?”

“Let’s find out!”

Back inside, Gabriel made a disgusted face. “You ready to be done with this?”

“Gladly,” Castiel answered.

Gabriel went to the door, opened it, and pulled a confused Lot in. Then he raised his hand, and with a snap of his fingers, the crowd’s threats became terrified screams.

“What did you do?” Lot gasped.

“They can’t get in the door if they can’t see,” Gabriel said. “They can’t chase you either. Who else is here beside your wife and daughters?”

“My sons. And sons-in-law.”

“Round them up,” Gabriel advised. “Get everything you need for a long journey by foot. This city will not be standing by tomorrow noon. Tell no one else. We leave at dawn.”

Castiel watched Lot hurry away, then turned to Gabriel. “Those women and children in the square. They’ll die too.”

“They would have died anyway, Cassie.”

“What I said to Avraham…it meant nothing? Raphael reported me for nothing?”

“No, you had an impact. It was Avraham’s argument with Father that will allow us to escort Lot’s family out of the city in the morning.”

“It worked?”

“It worked,” Gabriel affirmed.

The next morning, before the sun had even risen, Castiel and Gabriel led most of Lot’s family out of the city. A few thought he was joking, and ignored him, to their own detriment. Lot’s wife didn’t want to leave, either, didn’t want to abandon their home and all of her possessions.

And then the explosions began, fiery chunks of rock and hot ash falling from the sky, incinerating anything it touched. And the blast wave, stripping leaves from trees and the top layers of soil from the ground. And then sudden silence, as Castiel found himself back in Naomi’s office, strapped to her chair again.

“Oh, Castiel,” Naomi said, her voice dripping with insincerity. “You never learn, do you? They are mere ants, these humans. Not worth your time, and especially not your compassion. Did you hear what they wanted to do? To you, even?”

“Not all of them,” Castiel argued. “Lot didn’t.”

Naomi sighed. “One good apple doesn’t restore a bushel of rotten ones. It eventually rots too.”

“We don’t know that. Please, Naomi.”

“No, Castiel. We cannot allow rotten fruit.” She raised her drill and aimed it without mercy while Castiel screamed.


	5. Chapter Five

“Cas! Castiel!”

Dean ran back into the war room to see Sam trying to get Cas’ attention, or bring him back from wherever he’d gone. “Sam, he’s having another flashback.”

“I _know_, Dean! I was usually able to snap you out of yours.” Sam dodged as Cas tried to fight off an invisible assailant.

“This isn’t like a nightmare. You can’t just wake him up.”

“Cas!” Sam yelled again.

Cas sat leaned back in his chair in the war room, one hand gripping the arm so tightly that his knuckles were white, the other waving around wildly, nearly knocking Sam across the room.

Ducking under Cas’ arm, Dean grabbed him in a hug, nearly sitting in his lap as he straddled Cas’ legs in the chair. “You’re safe, Cas,” he said softly next to Cas’ ear. “You’re here with me. Dean. Me and Sam. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Dean could feel Cas’ body lose its tension only moments after he threw his arms around him, relaxing even more as Dean spoke. Cas’ arm stopped swinging and returned the hug for several long moments, before Cas seemed to come back to himself and dropped his arm, pulling away from Dean as much as the chair would let him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said, his voice breaking.

“Hey, no apologies,” Dean replied, standing back up and giving Cas his space. “Glad you’re back, is all. That one looked nasty.”

“It was… Yes.”

“Naomi again? Or something else?”

“I would prefer not to think about her.”

“Okay. Yeah. We can do that. You feel up to eating? Sam’ll drive into town and pick up the pizza. Maybe put on a movie after? Leave the whole Jack problem for tomorrow.”

Cas nodded. “I… Yes, I think that would be good. I don’t wish to negotiate any more today.”

“Lemme just talk to Sam. Get our order straight.” Dean made sure Cas seemed to be present and calm, then put his hand on Sam’s elbow and guided him into the kitchen.

“These are really bad,” Sam said. “I can’t believe Chuck would do that to him.”

“I believe it.” Dean shook his head. “We can’t fight Jack with Cas going through this. We can’t even _find _Jack, or figure out how to get him back here so we can stop him.”

“You have any ideas?” Sam asked. “Because this looks worse than when I was seeing Lucifer.”

“No. Thought maybe you could do your research thing?”

“And look up what? Angels with PTSD?”

“I don’t know, Sam.” Dean threw his hands in the air. “Your guess is as good as mine. For all I know, Chuck wanted to sideline Cas to keep us away from Jack.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll see what I can do. What do you want on your pizza?”

“Who says I only want one?”

* * *

“Not gonna eat, Cas?” Dean asked as he reached for another slice of mega-meat pizza from one of the boxes on the map table.

“No. I think I will go rest for a while.” He got up, a little unsteady, gave Dean the slightest hint of a smile, and retreated to the bedrooms.

“Cas doesn’t sleep,” Dean said, turning his attention to his brother, who was already immersed in his laptop.

“I’m sure those flashbacks are wearing him out,” Sam said as he typed something and read what came up. “You know how it is.”

“But he’s not human, Sam.”

“Maybe not, but… If his grace is low enough. He might as well be.”

“Hm.” Dean devoured the last slice, figuring it wouldn’t taste as good reheated later, when he inevitably got hungry again. He patted his belly, watched Sam for a bit, then finally stood and gathered up the pizza boxes and dirty napkins to dispose of them.

“I think I have something,” Sam announced when Dean returned with a fresh beer in his hand.

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’s not specific to angels. I’m not even sure if it’ll work. But it’s worth a shot.”

“I’m not trying an untested spell on him,” Dean warned.

“No, nothing like that,” Sam said. “Not this time. It’s…brain science. Trauma therapy.”

“Really, Sam?” Dean swallowed a mouthful of beer. “You want Cas to go to therapy?”

“Well, not _go to_, exactly.”

“What then, _exactly_?”

“I need to talk to Jody.” Sam pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts.

“No, Sam,” Dean said, irritated. “You need to talk to me first.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh and lowered his phone. “There’s a type of trauma therapy that could help Cas in just a few sessions. It’s not talk therapy. Not like what you’re thinking. It uses brain science. I don’t know _how _it works, just that it _does_. It’s been used to help war veterans for years. And that’s kind of what Cas is, right? A veteran of lots of wars?”

“Yeah, I suppose. But shouldn’t we ask Cas first?”

“I want to understand it better,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I can’t explain it to Cas very well if I don’t understand it myself.”

“And you think Jody can help how?”

“Vets aren’t the only ones who use it, Dean. Cops do too.” He tapped twice on his phone and raised it to his ear. After a few moments of silence, he raised his eyebrows. “Hi Jody. It’s Sam.”

“Put it on speaker,” Dean said, sitting next to him.

Sam tapped his phone again and set it on the map table.

“—something more going on out there?” Jody was saying.

“We always have something more,” Sam said with a smile.

“Yeah, it’s like every week, a new monster pops up,” Dean added.

“Hi, Dean,” Jody said over the phone. “You boys doing okay?”

Dean shrugged. “Can’t complain.”

“So, what do I owe this call to?” Jody asked. “If you’re not in trouble or dying. This something hunting related?”

“Not this time, Jody,” Sam said. “I called to ask you about EMDR.”

“About what?”

“Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing,” Sam said. “Does your department use it for trauma therapy?”

“Sam, if anyone in my department needed trauma therapy, it’d be me. And I’ve never heard of it. But we’re small stuff here. You’d have to ask one of the big cities.”

“Oh.” Sam sounded disappointed.

“But I know who might know more,” Jody said. Her line muffled and they could hear her shouting back and forth with someone.

More muffled noises, then another voice Dean recognized. “Hello?”

“Hey, Alex,” Dean said.

Sam smiled briefly. “Alex, hi.”

“Jody says I can help you?”

“Maybe,” Sam said. “Do you know about EMDR?”

“A bit. I’m not trained in it or anything, but I learned about it during a CNA clinical program I did recently in a psychiatric care unit.”

“We’re in kind of a bind here,” Sam explained. “And I think maybe EMDR can help. But I don’t know enough about it.”

“Are you thinking of doing therapy? ‘Cause I know you guys could use it.”

Dean managed to cover his mouth before he spit out his beer. Swallowing hastily, he choked a bit before answering. “No!”

“Actually, it’s Cas,” Sam said.

“Castiel is thinking of doing therapy? But…he’s an angel.”

“We haven’t exactly talked to him yet,” Dean said, glaring at Sam. “But he’s been having some really bad flashbacks. Sam thinks maybe this will help.”

“Oh. Well, it’s really powerful for, you know, _people_. I’m not sure about angels.”

“How does it work?” Sam asked.

“It’s bilateral stimulation,” Alex said.

Dean grinned. “I like the sound of stimulation.”

“Not like that, Dean.” Alex managed to channel Jody’s mom-voice over the phone. “It gets both hemispheres of the brain processing the trauma, usually using a light bar or the therapist’s hand, moving back and forth. The patient’s eyes follow the movement. That’s the eye movement part.”

“And you talk about the memory while doing this?” Sam asked.

“No, there’s no talking at all during this. You have to start with a traumatic memory. A target memory, and the untrue belief that comes from it. Something like, ‘I don’t matter’ or ‘I’m not safe.’ Then you come up with what you _want _to believe instead. And then while keeping all of this in mind, you do a bunch of sets of these. I think each one is like a minute long. And then the patient reports what they noticed while they were doing the eye movement part.”

“What do you mean, reports?” asked Dean.

“Like, any body sensations. Other memories. Thoughts. Images that come up. I watched one patient who thought these tappers she was holding, which vibrated alternating right and left, were burning up. But it was just a sensation of heat in her hands.”

“Stimulation _and _vibrating,” Dean said. “This is sounding better than Magic Fingers.”

“Dean!” Sam chided.

“Sorry,” Dean said, not sorry. He drank more of his beer, maybe sulking a little bit.

“So, then what happens?” Sam asked.

“Well, by the end of the hour, supposedly they’re closer to believing what they want to believe instead of the untrue belief. Like the trauma is more processed.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s all I know about it,” Alex said. “But there are a bunch of resources online. Oh, I do know one other thing: I remember the clinical director telling us that EMDR isn’t for repressed memories or buried trauma. It’s only for trauma that’s already on the surface. Something actively interfering with the patient’s daily life.”

“Well, that fits here,” Sam said. “Thanks, Alex.”

“Sure. You’re welcome.”

“One more question: what does the therapist do other than guide the patient through this?”

“I think mostly they’re just there to make sure the patient is safe, keep them grounded, and avoid making the trauma worse. EMDR can bring up a lot of old stuff and it can lead to a crisis if not handled correctly.”

“So, not something to try at home,” Dean added.

“No,” Alex said. “But the rules don’t really apply to do you, do they?”

“Thanks again, Alex,” Sam said.

“Yep. I gotta go. Bye, Sam. Bye, Dean.”

Sam tapped his phone off and tucked it back in his pocket. “What do you think?”

Dean sighed. “I think we need to talk to Cas.”


	6. Chapter Six

Castiel looked between the two brothers, trying to process what he’d heard. A cup of coffee sat on the library table, warming the palm of his hand. Sam and Dean sat across from him, a united front so to speak. But one discrepancy stood out. “Dean, why is it that when you have an idea that concerns me, we just do it, and when Sam has an idea that concerns me, you want my consent?”

Dean shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “’Cause my ideas are awesome.”

Castiel continued to stare at him without expression, knowing it would prompt Dean to answer more honestly.

“Look, Cas, I don’t like you messing around in my head, and I don’t want anyone messing around yours either.”

“Naomi already has. Repeatedly.”

“Yeah, and it’s got you pretty screwed up. I don’t want to make it worse. But we’ve gotta find Jack and somehow take him out of the equation so he doesn’t hurt anyone else, and we can’t do that if you keep reliving _Bible Stories with Castiel_ and then trying to get away from Naomi. So, we gotta ask: do you think this will work?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Castiel asked.

“I think Dean’s concern,” Sam said, “is that it’s based on human brain science. I don’t know how it would affect angels. I mean, your memories aren’t exactly stored in your vessel’s brain, right?”

“No. I always thought they were part of my grace, but when I lost that, when Metatron took it and I became human, I still remembered. So, they must be stored somewhere. I confess that I don’t entirely understand precisely _how_ grace works, only how to _use _it. It’s always been a part of me.”

“We could try it and see if it’s at all effective,” Sam offered. “And if there’s any concern about it making things worse, we stop. Because I have to be honest, this seems like the best option right now.”

“Did you have someone you wanted me to see for this?” Castiel asked, not really liking the idea of walking into another office and subjecting himself to another _treatment_.

“Well, we can’t just bring in a shrink,” Dean said. “’Cause one, they’re probably gonna have zero experience treating an angel and B, if you start talking about Adam and Eve eating the apple, they’re gonna think there’s a lot more wrong with you.”

“It wasn’t an apple, Dean. It was an early precursor to a—”

“Cas?” Dean interrupted.

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Then who do you propose would lead this eye movement?”

Dean shrugged. “Figured I would. I know your tells. I’ll know if it’s doing any good.”

“I do not have ‘tells,’” Castiel argued.

“Yeah, you do.”

“You see what you want to see. And you’re impatient,” Castiel added for good measure.

“I am not. But we got things to do. People to save. All that.”

“Guys?” Sam raised his voice. “Cas is right.” He turned to his brother. “Dean, I don’t think you’re a good fit for this. It requires patience and silence, letting Cas process at his own speed, in his own way.”

“Well, I’m not sitting this out.”

“No one said you had to.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re saying.”

Sam opened his mouth to retort and Castiel decided to step in. “You both have different strengths.” He turned to Dean. “I am sure there will be something you can do that Sam can’t. I don’t know how this process will affect me, and I believe Sam is better equipped to—”

“Fine,” Dean spat out. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, watching Dean retreat toward the bedrooms.

“He’ll be fine,” Sam assured him. “He just needs some time to cool off. You’re important to him, and I know he wants to help.”

“Why do I feel like he thinks I’ve just rejected him?”

“He’s making it all about him,” Sam said. “And it should be about you.”

“I don’t think he is,” Castiel said. “I’m going to go speak to him.”

“Your funeral.” Sam shrugged. “I’m going to take some time to learn how this is done. Maybe watch some videos. I saw a bunch of demonstrations on YouTube. I don’t want to screw this up for you, Cas.”

“I appreciate that, Sam. Thank you.”

Castiel found Dean in his room, as expected, the bottle of beer swapped out for a bottle of whiskey. “This isn’t worth drinking over,” Castiel said as he came in and stood at the foot of Dean’s bed, anticipating that Dean might throw him out any moment now.

“I can do just as good a job as Sammy, you know.”

“I know you can. And you can be impatient and impulsive. You’re a warrior, Dean. A fighter, a man of action, not words. This…sounds like a lot of inaction. You will want to see results, and I am concerned I will let you down.”

“I’m the one letting you down here, Cas. Can’t even wave my hand right.”

“You said before that you didn’t want anyone messing with my head.”

“Yeah. You sayin’ you don’t trust me?”

“Not at all. I’m saying that you would want the best person for the job, if my head is going to be messed with, yes?”

Dean looked away and visibly swallowed. “Yeah. It just clearly isn’t me.”

“Sam can be immobile and patient better than you can, yes. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have other strengths, other ways to contribute.”

“Well, knowing Sam, he’s not gonna let me forget this.” Dean took a swallow of his whiskey and Castiel was fairly certain it was to cover up unshed tears.

“I don’t think Sam would do that to you. Not for this.”

Dean glanced up. “You wanna bet on that?”

“You should have more faith in your brother, Dean. In spite of his teasing, he loves you and wants the best for you.”

“Maybe. I should go talk to him.” Dean moved to get up off his bed, and in a blink, Castiel was in different room.

Or rather, a tent.

Another man sat on a bed of animal skins, his long, dark brown hair covering half of his face. “This is not fair,” he said, anger and hurt obvious in his voice. “His work is easier than mine. Why should his gift be accepted and mine rejected?”

“Your brother offered his best,” Castiel said, fully immersed in the memory. “You brought what was easiest. You can improve, and you will be completely forgiven. You have the power to turn this around. You rule over sin.”

“I brought an equal amount of work,” the man argued. “He will use this to claim dominion over me and mine.”

“Your brother loves you, Cain.”

“You don’t know him the way I do.” Cain stood and shouldered past Castiel, exiting the tent.

Castiel followed from a discreet distance as Cain made his way into a field, where a taller, leaner man was using his body to keep a wayward lamb from running off into the nearby hills.

“Hevel!” Cain kneed animals out of his way as he approached his brother. “Don’t think this changes anything between us.”

“It changes nothing between us,” Hevel replied, moving to intercept the lamb again. “But it should be an incentive for you to be better.”

“Oh, because you’re already better?” Cain said.

“No, Cain. Because we should all do our best. Offer our best. You had better crops, but you didn’t bring those. You brought what was easiest to harvest.”

“If I’d brought those other crops, it would’ve taken me twice as long, and I’d have worked harder than you did. Why should I do that?”

“Because it’s not about the effort. It’s about the intention. Be your best. Do your best. Offer your best. And know that your best is different than mine.”

“Yeah, I’ll show you who’s better,” Cain said, stomping back out of the field and past Castiel again.

“Cain, wait.” Castiel reached out to grab his arm. “Do not harm your brother.”

Shrugging his hand off, Cain glared at him. “Leave me alone. You and your god can go fuck yourselves.”

Castiel turned to follow Cain, but found himself in Naomi’s office.

“You were sent with a simple message, Castiel,” Naomi said. “Remind the man Cain that his offering was inadequate, and to correct his careless ways. That was all.”

“He felt rejected,” Castiel said. “He felt that not only was his offering not good enough, but that _he _wasn’t good enough.”

“It is not for you to change how the humans _feel_. It’s bad enough they do so over anything and everything. You are to deliver your assigned message and leave. Do you understand?”

“Aren’t we to love them? Help them? Cain was…familiar to me. As was his brother. I only wanted to help.”

“Your job is not to _help_. And you are certainly not to feel anything for or about them. This must be addressed immediately. Sit here.” She motioned to a reclining chair in her office.

“I don’t… I don’t like this chair. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Castiel. Sit.”

Following orders, Castiel sat in the chair, pushing down a rising panic that he didn’t understand.

“This hurts me far more than it hurts you,” Naomi said. She brought a device up to his eye, and then there was only blackness and pain.

* * *

Dean started to get off his bed, knowing he was going to need to apologize to Sam, but hesitated when Cas’ face went slack and his eyes unfocused. He waited for a few moments—maybe it was just an incoming message on angel radio—but then Cas’ breathing increased, and he looked troubled, then afraid, even as his gaze remained trained on nothing at all.

“Cas?” Dean cautiously approached him, then reached out a hand to Cas’ arm.

Cas pulled away, his breath now coming in gasps. “I don’t…”

“It’s okay, Cas. I’ve got you. You’re safe here. We’re in the bunker.”

Shrinking away from him, Cas’ eyes stared blankly, widened, and then he crumpled just as Dean caught him.

“Whoa, buddy.” Dean held what felt like dead weight, memories coming unbidden of carrying Cas’ body from the lakeside into the house, dressing him for the funeral pyre. “Not on my watch,” he growled, hefting Cas up and dragging him to the bed. He laid Cas out, checking every few moments for breaths that Cas shouldn’t need to breathe but did anyway, watching Cas’ eyes move behind his eyelids, reminding himself that as far as he knew, no one had ever died from a flashback.

He thought about what he would have wanted if he’d ever let anyone in about what went on in his head, the terrors that sometimes blurred the line between present and past, leaving him disoriented and uncomfortable in his own skin. He removed Cas’ shoes, then brushed Cas’ hair back from his forehead. Cas’ skin felt chilled and clammy, and Dean draped a blanket over him, despite all of Cas’ layers. He found Cas’ hand, then, under the blanket, and clasped it in his own, squeezing gently to remind Cas of his presence.

“I’ve got you, Cas,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “We’re gonna fix this. You don’t have to do this alone. Me and you? We’ve beat Leviathan, Lucifer, Amara. We can take on memories of another angel with a superiority complex. You don’t need to be reset, Cas. You’re…you’re pretty awesome the way you are. I don’t care if other angels think you’re broken. I need you as _you_. The Cas I know. And not as a tool or anything. I just…I need you in my life. I can’t—”

Dean broke off as Cas’ hand squeezed back. “Cas? You back with us? You had another flashback. You’re safe.”

“This, Dean,” Cas said, his voice raspier than usual. He blinked his eyes open, the left eye bloodshot.

“What do you mean, _this_?”

“This is what you can do.” Cas squeezed his hand again. “This is something you can do to help that Sam can’t.”

“What, Sam can’t hold your hand and remind you you’re safe?” Dean scoffed.

“It’s different,” Cas said, moving his limbs as Dean let go of his hand. “It means more, coming from you.”

Dean could feel himself blush and the inevitable urge to deflect. “You want something to eat? I mean, I know you don’t have to eat, but maybe it’ll ground you in the present or some hippie granola crap?”

“Are you suggesting I eat hippie granola crap? Because that doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

“No, I’m saying—” Dean stopped when he saw amusement in Cas’ eyes. “You’re an ass.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “But you like me this way.”

“All right, all right. You want something to eat?”

“No, thank you. I think I’d just like to rest a bit.”

“Yeah. You can rest here. I can sleep in the Dean Cave or something. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“No, that—” Cas shook his head. “That wasn’t what I meant. Would you…” He looked away and licked his lips, his expression one of uncertainty, then returned his gaze. “Would you stay here? With me?”

“Uh…yeah. I can take the couch,” he said, nodding toward the green couch in the corner. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but with what Cas was going through, he could have the memory foam for a night.

“I—” Cas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was thinking you could share your bed. With me.” He stared at the far wall for a few moments. “I feel better when you’re…close.”

Dean bit back a retort about enacting Hallmark moments in favor of chewing the inside of his cheek. “Okay. Yeah. Lemme just…you know…get ready for bed.” He momentarily forgot where his toothbrush and sleep clothes were, feeling like he must have been transported to some alternate reality where his most private fantasies that would never, _ever_ come true were now openly accepted and encouraged.

He set about brushing his teeth, relieving himself, and changing clothes in the bathroom, grateful that Sam wasn’t there to ask any questions that would make this any weirder. When he returned to his bedroom, Cas had taken off his trench coat, suit coat, tie, and belt, looking practically naked in just a dress shirt and slacks.

“You wanna change into something more comfortable?” Dean asked. “You could borrow some sleep pants or something.” The thought of Cas wearing his clothes absolutely did _not _give him any sort of thrill, nor did it cause anything even approximating a fluttering in his chest.

“I’m fine,” Cas said. “Your bed is indeed quite comfortable.”

“Gotta love the memory foam. Careful, or it’ll remember you too.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Dean realized what he’d said and turned away, embarrassed.

To Cas’ credit, he didn’t comment on that little faux-pas, instead rolling over to face away from Dean. “Thank you for this. I think I may actually sleep.”

“Yeah?” Dean felt the tension in his own body as he climbed into the other side of the bed and slid under the covers. He could feel the heat from Cas’ body, the angel’s steady presence, calming and easing him simply by its proximity. Perhaps that was the effect he had on Cas, too, because Cas sighed contentedly as Dean lay down next to him.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas said, a smile in his voice.

Dean allowed himself to relax into that presence, and when he closed his eyes, he saw Cas instead of the usual catalog of people he hadn’t been able to save, people who’d died because Dean Winchester couldn’t possibly be as righteous as Cas claimed he was. He gave himself a brief moment to wonder what it would be like to feel deserving of Cas’ praise and adoration, and felt himself physically drawn closer to Cas, lying next to him. Here in the dark, in the privacy of his mind, he could pretend that he was worth something _more_. Just for a few minutes here, before he went back to reality. It felt…warm and soft and…nice. He smiled. “’Night, Cas.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Dean woke slowly, stretching his muscles before he opened his eyes, the entire ritual feeling like it was from a lifetime ago, when he had the luxury of waking in his own time and not in reaction to danger. He froze for a moment, suddenly remembering that Cas had spent the night in his bed. Opening one eye carefully, he peeked over at that side of the bed, only to find it empty. A hand to the pillow Cas had used verified Cas had left long enough ago for any residual body heat to have dissipated.

Still, Dean had slept well. And for nearly…he glanced at his watch…_nine hours_? That couldn’t be right. He never slept that long unless he was recovering from illness or injury, and even then, it usually wasn’t more than seven. He didn’t remember any nightmares either, which was another incongruency. Just a sense of calm and safety and _home_.

He stood, stretched his arms above his head, popped his back in a few different places, then grabbed his dead guy robe and headed out to find Cas and see who else was up.

As it turned out, everyone else was up. Cas sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee while Sam finished preparing some disgusting-looking green shake with bits of—were those _leaves?_—floating in it.

“That from the bottom of a garbage bag or a lethal potion from Rowena?” he asked, making a face at the clear plastic tumbler Sam was holding.

“Ha, ha,” Sam replied, leaning his hip against the stainless-steel island. “It’s my post-run breakfast shake. Recipe calls for spinach, but Cas encouraged me to try kale. It actually tastes better this way.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, Dean noticed Sam was wearing his running shorts and a sweaty t-shirt. He poured himself a cup of coffee and drank half of it, eyes closed, before he allowed himself to think, speak, or notice anything else. Caffeine bolus started, he shifted into breakfast mode, digging out eggs and bacon from the fridge.

“How long did you sleep last night?” he asked Cas, as he found the pans he’d need. He hoped the question was specific enough about time and vague enough about location that Sam wouldn’t pick up on any room-sharing, much less any bed-sharing. Totally platonic thing, though. He and Sam had shared a bed on countless occasions, though admittedly, he never woke feeling so damn _good_ after.

“I’m not sure,” Cas answered. “Longer than I thought I would, but short enough that I was up before Sam.”

“Great, man,” Dean said, cracking eggs into a bowl. “After all you’ve been through, I think you needed it.”

“I did. And you being next to me in bed meant several hours of fulfilling rest. No flashbacks.”

_Fuck_. Dean cracked the egg he was holding a little too hard, crushing the shell in his hand and getting broken yolk all over the countertop.

“Next to you?” Sam piped up, barely concealing a laugh. “In _bed_?”

“Shut up, Sam. He had another flashback. I kept him company. That’s all. End of story.”

Dean chanced a look at Sam before he cleaned up the sticky egg mess and saw Sam’s amusement fade into concern.

“Another one? After you guys left?”

“Yes,” Cas answered. “Although I am starting to notice a pattern.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, returning to preparing his breakfast. “Other than it always being Naomi who hurts you?”

A wince crossed Cas’ face briefly, subtle enough that most people might have missed it, but Dean could tell. He could always tell when Cas was in pain.

“Yes. Beyond that. The memories that the flashbacks hold begin with ones that I’ve always remembered. Abraham almost sacrificing Isaac. Sodom and Gomorrah. Cain and Abel. But the parts that I didn’t remember were the…interventions. Finding myself in Naomi’s office. What she saw as my transgressions. I remembered these other things happening, but not my part in it. That was what she erased. Where I failed.”

“Yeah, but failure’s how we learn,” Sam offered.

“For humans, yes,” Cas said. “Not for angels. We are given orders. We fulfill them or we fail. An angel that fails often is…reset. A string of failures could create doubt. Fear. We were created to fear nothing. Doubt nothing. This is my failing.”

“You’re saying angels can get gun-shy?” Dean asked.

“In a manner of speaking. It is…unusual. Atypical. Not the mark of a good angel.”

“Well, they wouldn’t know a good angel if he stabbed them in the ass,” Dean said as he plated his food and brought it over to the table. “You always try to do the right thing, even if the methods…”

“Suck?” Cas supplied.

“They don’t _always_ suck, you know. Bacon?” He held out a slice.

Cas gave him a tiny smile. “Thank you, but no.”

“Your loss.” Dean stuffed the entire slice in his mouth and savored the melting of meat and fat on his tongue.

“Gross,” Sam said. “And you insult _my _breakfast. I’m gonna go shower. I have a pretty good idea of how to start EMDR, Cas, so we can get going once I’m done.”

“You are confident in your research?” Cas asked.

“I am. Especially because from every source I’ve consulted, you’ll be the one doing most of the work.” Sam flashed a smile. “You’ve got this, Cas. I’m not saying it’ll be fun, but I know you can do it.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Dean waited for Sam to leave, then nudged Cas’ arm with the back of his hand. “You got my vote of confidence too.”

“Thank you, Dean. That means a lot.”

Dean returned to eating, not sure why that exchange left a tingling warmth spreading through his chest and into his shoulders and upper arms, little sparks of light and something else unidentifiable gently vibrating under his skin.

* * *

Castiel sat stiffly in a chair in the library, his hands gripping the chair arms, aware of how tense he was, but unable to do anything about it. He wondered, briefly, why combatting memories of being in Naomi’s chair had to be done in another chair.

“I’m ready,” he said, preparing himself for whatever might happen.

“Cas, you can relax,” Sam said, sitting in a chair opposite him. “We’re just going to talk for a bit.”

“Can Dean be here too?” Castiel asked, knowing that Dean was surrounded by an emotional cloud of frustration and powerlessness, washing already-clean dishes in the kitchen.

“If you want. But you need to know that he can’t say anything during this.”

“I understand. If he’s willing, I’d like him to be here.”

“Okay. Take some easy breaths. I’ll get Dean.”

Moments later, Dean pulled up a chair to sit next to him, and Castiel immediately felt more grounded, much as he had when Dean lay next to him the previous night. He relaxed his grip on the chair arms and felt the tension ease in his shoulders.

Sam picked up a pad of paper and a pen and rested them in his lap. “So, the first thing we have to do is make sure you have some self-calming techniques. Which, I guess, being an angel, you probably already have. But I’ll be more comfortable if we talk about them a bit. These flashbacks you have kind of take you out of reality entirely, and it can take a while to bring you back. EMDR isn’t supposed to trigger that kind of thing. It’s about containing the memories and feelings, not making them so big that you get lost in them.”

“What is it you wish to know?”

“When we start processing what happened, all my sources say that it can stir up a lot of things: emotions, memories, physical sensations, movements, thoughts. They can come up quickly and become overwhelming. We don’t want you to be overwhelmed. We want to stir them up a little bit, and then let you be with them for a short time and gradually lose any negative associations.”

“You’re talking about a form of systematic desensitization,” Cas said. “Isn’t that precisely what Naomi did?”

“No! God, no,” Sam said. “She _erased _part of your memories through what I can only call torture. Bad enough that you blocked it out. This isn’t about erasing anything. It’s about…” Sam seemed to be searching for a word… “integrating everything you’ve experienced and have it not take you out of the present or bring up any fear or anger or, you know, the desire to smite someone.”

“’Specially us,” Dean added before he shot a guilty look at Sam and made a point of pinching his lips together.

“I am not afraid of Naomi,” Castiel corrected, wanting to make sure Sam understood this.

“I’m not saying you’re afraid of her,” Sam said. “It’s more like these memories, these flashbacks, they come with the fear you felt at the time embedded within them. That fear you felt right before she reset you. I guess it’s not fear of her, exactly, but fear of the process. What she did to you.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, the process was unpleasant.”

“Yeah, I think it was more than _unpleasant_, Cas,” Dean said.

“Dean!” Sam gave his brother a look of irritation, probably what Dean would call his bitchface.

“Sorry.” Dean raised his hands. “I’ll be quiet.”

“So, what I need to know,” Sam said more calmly, “is, when you feel these feelings or memories or sensations come up, what do you already know how to do to lessen them? Like, is there some angelic calming technique or something?”

Castiel thought about it for several long moments, long enough that he expected Dean to interrupt with another _you got this_ or some suggestions of his own. But he remained silent. “I suppose,” he began, “my grace acts as a kind of barrier between all of those things you mentioned and my experiences. Were I still at full power, I doubt I would have these flashbacks. Perhaps it is because of my depleted grace that I am experiencing this at all. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve fallen before and had the experience of being completely human. At any rate, I’m not sure I know any techniques other than drawing upon my grace and simply making any intrusions cease to exist.”

“Okay, so are you open to me teaching you a few?”

“Of course, Sam.”

“Great.” Sam huffed out a breath. “Well, the first one is the easiest and maybe the most powerful. It’s just a breathing technique. Works for all kinds of things. You just breathe in through your nose, slowly and easily, then hold the breath for a couple of seconds, then exhale through your mouth, making some sort of noise as you do. It can be a vocalization or a hum or even making the _fff_ sound. The vibration as you exhale breaks what they call the trauma loop.”

Castiel nodded as he traced the flow of breath through a human body. “The vibrations stimulate the vagus nerve,” he said, “which in turn controls the parasympathetic nervous system, including heart and lungs. Yes, I can see how that would reset the nervous system.”

“Good. The second one is to picture a place where you feel safe. Some people like a beach or a forest or a meadow. But the idea is that it’s a place you can visualize if the feelings or sensations get to be too much. A place that will remind you that you’re safe.”

“That one is easy,” Castiel said. At one time, he would have said Heaven, but Heaven had ceased to be a safe place long ago. “I don’t even have to imagine it. It’s here. The bunker.” Sam and Dean didn’t really need to know that the bunker’s kitchen is where he hung out when Lucifer had possessed him, but if it came up, he would share that. They needed to know just _how _safe he considered this place. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever share how much Dean telling him he couldn’t stay meant a loss of safety. He knew Dean already felt enough guilt about that. There was no sense in adding to it.

“Okay. And then in between EMDR sessions, things can come up then too. You don’t need to make them go away or cease to exist, but you don’t want to make them bigger either. You want to just sort of transfer the energy into some other activity. Maybe take a shower or go for a run or write in a journal.”

“I may consider joining you on your run, if it seems like it might be helpful. I like the idea of a journal. I don’t know what I would write on, though.”

“We’ll get you a journal of your own, Cas,” Dean said. “We can get it for you today.”

Castiel felt a smile stretch his vessel’s lips. “I would like that very much, Dean.”

“And I can help,” Dean added. “If things get too strong.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, feeling his face heat up. “You are very good at that.”

“Do you guys need a moment?” Sam asked.

“No!” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and slouched in his chair.

“Okay, I think you’re good on calming techniques. The next thing we need to do is pick a target memory. They say to pick ‘the worst or the first,’ meaning either the worst trauma or the earliest one you can remember. But I’m not sure if that applies to a gazillion-year-old being.”

“As far as I know,” Castiel said, careful about how close he got to these unearthed memories of his time in Naomi’s chair, “Naomi did pretty much the same thing each time. And not only did she erase my failures and…reset, as you call it, my behavior and thinking, she also erased what she did to me. Early on, I didn’t even remember what her chair was for. Only that I didn’t like it.”

“Well, that can be bad too.” Sam wrote something on his pad of paper. “Knowing something bad was coming but being powerless to stop it?”

“I do not like feeling powerless,” Castiel agreed.

“I guess just pick any one, then. And what you need is an image that represents what she did to you.”

“That, also, is easy. The image of her drill coming toward me. How disapproving she looked. Merciless. Not that I deserved any.”

“And that leads me right into the next thing,” Sam said. “The target memory, and image, hold a belief you have about yourself. You just said you didn’t deserve mercy.”

Castiel struggled to stay still, to continue sitting in this safe place, even as he wished with every photon of his being that his wings still worked and he could fly away until Sam and Dean forgot all about this. “I disobeyed, Sam.”

“And you were tortured into compliance. How is that fair or just?”

“No one said Heaven was a place of justice. It’s a place of order.”

“Order?” Dean said, his tone disbelieving. “Angels fighting and killing each other? Waging war for control over Heaven? Killing any humans who get in the way? Willing to destroy the earth just to prove a point, to live out some ancient prophecy that’s little more than two narrow-minded brothers with daddy issues? _That’s_ what you call order?”

“Perhaps order is an illusion,” Castiel admitted. “We strive toward it but sometimes in the wrong ways.”

“And perhaps your belief that you didn’t deserve mercy is equally wrong,” Sam said. “No one deserves torture, Cas.”

Every response Castiel could think of was some form of argument, to argue _for_ what Naomi did. But if that was true, then did it only apply to him? Or would it have to apply to everyone? He remained silent.

“Do you think that you don’t deserve mercy?” Sam asked.

Castiel shrugged, a motion he knew he’d picked up from Sam and Dean at some point. It seemed to speak the words he didn’t have.

“The night I met you,” Dean said, his voice sounding oddly choked with some emotion, “you said something that really stuck with me. You said, ‘You don't think you deserve to be saved?’ And I didn’t. Hell, sometimes I still don’t. But I believe with every cell in my body that you do, okay, Cas? No matter what you’ve done, no matter how many times you disobeyed.”

“No matter if my negligence led to your mother’s death?” The words were out of Castiel’s mouth before he realized what he’d said and that this may be the end of his safety. Immediately, he cringed, almost wishing for Naomi’s drill to remove this moment forever.

Dean looked devastated, but so far it hadn’t flared into anger. “It wasn’t right for me to take that out on you,” he said in a soft voice. “I’m still pissed at Jack. But I’m angry at Mom too. She knew the dangers as well. I mean, we just got her back and now she’s gone again, and that pain is so raw. But do you deserve torture and pain because you didn’t tell us sooner? No, man. If you do, then we all do, y’know?”

“I think I understand. And thank you.”

“For what?”

Castiel let his relief transition into gratitude. “For not telling me to leave. For being my safe space.”

“All we got is each other, right?” Dean shrugged one shoulder.

Turning to Sam with a new thought, Castiel asked, “What if there is more than one belief as a result of what Naomi did?”

“Yeah, that’s common, from what I’ve read,” Sam said. “So you pick the one that is the biggest problem right now.”

“I don’t know if I can.” Castiel was feeling a little dizzy, thoughts flitting about like bees, though this time he couldn’t see the geometrical patterns they made among the flowers. “Maybe there really is something wrong with me.”

“That’s what Naomi wanted you to believe,” Dean said.

“Maybe that’s the belief we start with. Sound good to you, Cas?” Sam asked.

Castiel considered it. “What if it turns out to be true?”

“It’s not,” Dean said quickly. “I can tell you, it’s not true.”

As Castiel sat silently, words that Chuck had told him in that professor’s office came back to him. _You’re my angelic success story_. “Okay. I choose that one.”

“Great,” Sam wrote something—probably that belief—on his pad. “Last thing: what’s the belief you want to have instead?”

Castiel couldn’t help but look at Dean. “I want to believe I’m worthy.”


	8. Chapter Eight

“Maybe we should take a break,” Dean suggested. He could see Cas slowing down in both speech and mannerisms, his already stiff gestures becoming exaggerated and intentional.

“This can be pretty intense,” Sam agreed. “And we’re all still grieving, honestly. Maybe you guys go shopping for that journal. I’ll see if there are any more signs of Jack. Meet back here in a few hours?”

“I like it,” Dean said, pushing himself out of the chair and stretching. “And I’m itchin’ for a burger.”

Cas stood and gave him a confused look. “You just ate.”

“So?” Dean pulled out his keys. “There’s a burger place in Smith Center, along with a dollar store. We can find everything we need there.”

The irritating itch under Dean’s skin began to ease the moment Baby’s tires hit the highway and the wind hit his face. He knew that there was a good chance this could help Cas, and he wanted that for him, but at the same time, sitting around talking was not his idea of a good time. If only flashbacks were monsters that could be shot, stabbed, or burned.

He’d almost suggested heading up to the mall in Grand Island, a good hour and a half away, but with adding lunch and journal-shopping in, it’d be four or five hours before they got back. And if Sam came up with something about Jack’s whereabouts, or if Cas had another flashback… Best to stick closer to home for now.

The dollar store was next to a general store and a gas station, and Dean figured he ought to gas Baby up while they were there. He had half a tank but liked to keep it topped off in case they needed to hit the road quickly. “I’m gonna gas up while we’re here,” he said to Cas, pulling up to one of the pumps.

“Of course.”

“If you want to go next door to the dollar store and poke around, see if they have any journals you like, go ahead. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Cas seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded once and climbed out. “I’ll wait for you inside,” he said.

“You got it.”

Twenty bucks later (on a credit card in Doug Clifford’s name), Dean parked in front of the dollar store and headed in to find Cas, a bell over the front door jingling as he entered. There was a small office supply section, but Cas wasn’t there. No Cas in the book section either. He started to do a sweep of the store when an angry, loud woman exited the restroom, holding the hand of a crying preschooler, who had a visible imprint of a hand across one cheek.

“Mia, quit screaming like a howler monkey, would you?” the woman said, yanking on the girl’s arm. “The whole town can hear you and it’s unbecoming. Act like a lady or I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

The girl gulped a few breaths and sniffled, wiping her nose with her free hand and clearly trying hard to push down her emotions. Dean had a strong urge to tell the woman off, let her know that hitting kids just made them scared and angry, but then he heard a sharp inhale.

Turning toward the sound, Dean saw Cas crouched in a corner, his knees drawn up to his chest, with a yellow book clutched tight in his hands. He was staring in the general vicinity of the restroom, his eyes wide and unseeing, his breath coming in staccato gasps.

“Cas?” Dean said softly, hoping it would be enough to pull him from what had to be another flashback. “Cas, it’s okay.”

Cas didn’t seem to see or hear him, so Dean ignored all thoughts about how dirty the floor was, and moved slowly to sit next to Cas. He refrained from any touching, keeping his hands to himself in case Cas reacted violently, but sat close enough that he could feel the warmth coming from Cas’ body.

“I’m here, Cas,” he said. “I’m here. You take as long as you need, okay?”

The bell over the front door chimed, and the woman’s verbal assault quieted as she left the store with her browbeaten daughter. A minute or two later, Cas shuffled closer to Dean until the sides of their arms and legs were touching. Cas inhaled shakily and then exhaled through his mouth, catching a few times.

“That’s it,” Dean said. “Breathe in through your nose, hold a moment, out through your mouth.” He realized how ridiculous he must sound, but damn it, if it helped Cas, he didn’t care.

Cas followed the instructions, taking a few more breaths before he closed his eyes, his body sagging.

After a few moments, Dean nudged him gently with his shoulder. “You okay?”

A shaky breath. “Yes. I will be.”

“Naomi again?”

Cas turned to look at him, his eyes holding the same expression of betrayal and resignation that the little girl had as she left the restroom. “Zachariah.”

“I’d stab him again for you, if I could.”

“He took me to Naomi’s office. Told her to fix me. That I was defective.”

Dean swore under his breath. “Talk about being nothing more than a tool. That’s all Zachariah wanted you for. A killing machine. His hammer.”

“He was my superior.”

“No, Cas. He wasn’t superior to you in any way. Maybe a higher rank, but I bet he messed with some other angel’s reality to get what he wanted. Guy never was about playing fair. Smug bastard.”

“That woman…she… She sounded like him.”

“Yeah, I get that. Poor kid’s gonna need her own therapy. I almost told that woman exactly what I thought of her parenting, but then I saw you.”

Immediately, Cas’ face fell. “You could have helped that girl if it wasn’t for me.”

“Not your fault, Cas. Don’t go there. ‘Sides, me speaking up might have made it worse. This one time, I remember Dad left me and Sam in a motel for a couple weeks. Ran out of food. Some folks left their cooler in the back seat of their car. I broke in and got us some sandwich fixings. Someone saw me, though, and gave Dad hell when he eventually got back. Told him he was raising irresponsible hooligans. Not a word you hear often. Anyway, Dad looked properly chastised in the parking lot while this woman tore him a new one, but then he took it out on me after he got back in the room. And told me I’d better keep quiet or I’d get worse.”

“I am so sorry, Dean.”

“I’m only saying it because if I’d said what I wanted to that mom, she might’ve taken it out on the girl later. Would’ve felt good, saying it, but it could make things worse. So, it’s probably best you needed me.”

Cas was silent, his fingers tracing the edges of the yellow book he was holding.

“Whatcha got there?”

Slowly, Cas held it out. It was a lined journal with a bright yellow cover. On the front it had a smiling cartoon bee and said _Bee Kind_, and on the back were two sets of two smiling bees facing each other.

Dean smiled. “That’s… That’s adorable, actually. Reminds me of when you weren’t really all there, you know?”

“I’m not really all here now either.”

“Yeah, well crazy-you was kinda sweet. Innocent.”

“Useless,” Cas countered.

“Not to me.” He let out a long breath. “You ready to get that and go grab a burger?”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Fine. I’ll order two cheeseburgers with fries and you can steal half off my plate.” He stood and held a hand out to Cas to help him up.

“Maybe I’ll steal a bite or two,” Cas said as he took Dean’s offered hand.

“Uh-huh.”

“Or three.”

* * *

After the fourth fry Cas stole, Dean pushed the second plate across the table. “Just take the damn plate, Cas.”

“But it tastes better when it’s on your side.”

“You just like food that’s been blessed by my presence,” Dean joked, feeling nothing of the sort.

Cas stopped eating and leaned forward, his hands resting in front of him on the table. He waited with a patient expression until Dean gave him his full attention. “You’re right. I do.” With a satisfied look, he sat back and popped another fry into his mouth.

Fidgeting under Cas’ praise, Dean cast about for something to take the attention off of him. “So, what’s it like, having a gazillion years of memories?”

“Gazillion is not a number, Dean. I only have a few hundred million years of memories on Earth.”

“_Only_.” Dean scoffed. “Why do you hang out with us? Humans. Our lives are over in the blink of an eye to you.” He stuffed a few fries in his mouth.

“It’s perhaps for that very reason that I find humans fascinating. You could so easily give up, think that you can’t make a difference in the world in just eighty years or so. But you don’t. You keep trying, keep creating, keep…loving. You’re resilient. Angels are created to follow orders, Dean. But humans? Humans are created to inspire. And be inspired.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’m even gonna make it to eighty. Hunters don’t tend to live long.” Dean took a bite of his cheeseburger, not caring that some of the juices ran down his chin. He angled his chin over the fries so the beef juice would coat them. Better than ketchup.

“Most hunters don’t have an angel hanging out with them.”

“So why do you? ‘Cause I don’t want you thinking it’s just so you can heal me when I’m not fast enough in a fight.”

“Beyond being a fascinating and occasionally unrefined example of the human species?” The corner of Cas’ mouth quirked up in a hint of a smile. “You inspire me too. I’ve learned more about what it means to be human, and what it means to be an angel, since we’ve met.”

“Oh yeah? What have you learned about being an angel since we met?” The burger was disappearing quickly under Dean’s attention.

“Do you remember what I said about my grace? How it creates a barrier and keeps emotions at a distance from us? How angels don’t experience trauma because of their grace?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve taught me that sometimes it gets in the way too. Some things are worth feeling.”


	9. Chapter Nine

“You ready?” Sam asked as Castiel settled uncertainly in his chair.

“I suppose.” Castiel was simultaneously intrigued in this process and dreading it. Every flashback was another reminder that he was more human than angel, less protected by his grace, weaker, more vulnerable. And yet what he’d told Dean was true as well: some things were worth feeling. He just couldn’t find any justifiable reason to feel so broken and _wrong_ every time he was dragged back to Naomi’s office. Every flashback had him wondering if Chuck had cursed him with a touch.

“Okay.” Sam scooted his chair so they sat facing each other, about four feet apart. “Is this too close? Too far away?”

“For what?”

“I’m going to have you follow my hand with your eyes. Don’t move your head; just your eyes. I’m just wondering if this distance is comfortable for you.”

“Dude,” Dean broke in, sitting reassuringly close to Castiel, “Cas doesn’t do personal space.”

“Yeah, with _you_,” Sam said to his brother. He turned back to Castiel. “I don’t want to be so close that it feels threatening, or so far away that it feels isolating.”

“Oh. You’re a comfortable distance now.”

“Great. I want you to picture that image of Naomi’s drill coming toward you. And at the same time, hold the thought, _I am worthy_. On a scale of one to seven, how believable is that thought?”

Castiel was quiet for a few moments. “One. I’d like to believe it, but I don’t.”

“And on a scale of one to ten, how much stress do you feel with that image and that thought together?”

Revisiting the image made Castiel cringe, wanting desperately to defend himself, fight her off. It took more willpower than he cared to admit to keep reminding himself that he was safe here in the bunker. Dean was still beside him. He didn’t have to fight. It was only a memory. “Eight.”

At Dean’s surprised look, Castiel dropped the tension in his shoulders and surrendered to the truth. “No. Ten.”

Sam wrote something on his pad of paper, then smiled at him. “We’re not judging you, Cas. We’ll do several sets of about thirty to forty-five seconds each, where you watch my hand go back and forth. After each one, I want you to do that breathing thing—easy, deep breath in through your nose, hold for a couple of seconds, then out through your mouth. Then I want you to tell me what you noticed.”

“About the breath?” Castiel asked.

“No, what you noticed during the eye movement sets. Any physical sensations you have, any thoughts that come up, images that appear in your mind’s eye, memories, any physical urges—”

“Like wanting to push Naomi away and run from the room?”

“Exactly. Anything like that. Memories might or might not come up. Your subconscious is actually leading this. Or at least, that’s how it would work for humans. We’re hoping that’s how it’ll work for you too.”

“Okay. I’m ready then.”

Castiel rested his hands on his thighs, let out a long breath, and waited for Sam to begin.

Flashing a quick smile, Sam raised his hand level with his face, palm facing Castiel. “Just notice.”

At first, Castiel felt an immediate sense of panic, that Sam’s hand was moving too fast, that he wasn’t doing it right, that he was moving his head instead of his eyes, that he wasn’t following quickly enough. _Overstimulation_, his mind provided, and he willed himself to relax. The second knuckle of Sam’s middle finger had a spot of ink on it, perhaps where the pen he’d been writing with had accidentally marked him. Castiel found himself focusing in on that ink spot, following it back and forth, calming as he did, and starting to feel disconnected from his body, as if he was starting to leave his vessel behind.

He almost panicked then, but somehow the clear thought came through that either Dean or Sam would speak up if they noticed him leaving, and he allowed himself to trust them. Left to right to left, he was lulled by following the ink spot, still feeling like he was floating and disconnected, but not as worried. Just as he fully relaxed into the sensation, Sam lowered his hand slowly.

“Deep breath,” Sam instructed softly.

Castiel breathed.

“What did you notice?”

“I felt disconnected from my vessel. I was worried that I was leaving it, even though I wasn’t trying to.”

“Okay.” Sam raised his hand again. “Just notice.”

“Whoa, hang on,” Dean interrupted, leaning forward. “Aren’t you supposed to explain or interpret what Cas experienced or something?”

Sam shook his head. “No, Dean. And you need to not interrupt.”

Raising his hands in surrender, Dean sat back in his chair.

“Just notice,” Sam instructed again, starting to move his hand back and forth.

The sense of disconnection was strong at first, but Castiel relaxed into it after only a few seconds. The ink spot seemed reassuring somehow. For no known reason, Castiel was suddenly aware of his wings, and the visceral memory of flight, of banking and turning, riding thermals of energy, moving in and out of space and time. At the same time, he could feel his wings as they were now: ragged, broken, useless. They ached, and the pain radiated into his vessel, up into his shoulders and down his arms, down his back and into his hips. The pain became stronger, making him want to curl into himself and cry out. It burned and throbbed and sent sharp flashes of agony through him. And just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, Sam lowered his hand.

“Easy breath, Cas,” Sam said.

Castiel breathed, trying to relax the muscles still stinging from the pain.

“What did you notice?”

“I… My wings. I don’t know why I thought about them. I remembered what it was like to fly. How it felt. And then my wings started to hurt.”

“How do they feel now?” Sam asked.

“They still hurt. Everything hurts.”

“Okay. Just notice.”

Out of his peripheral vision, Castiel could see Dean’s frustrated expression, and he knew he’d made the right decision to have Sam lead this.

As Sam’s hand began moving back and forth again, the pain almost immediately disappeared, leaving Castiel wondering if it was phantom pain of some sort. He checked his grace and found that it was unchanged. He hadn’t healed the pain; he _couldn’t_. God knew, he’d tried. He felt a surge of anger at Chuck. Chuck could have healed his wings instead of giving him…whatever this was. That would have been much more helpful. Being able to fly again would make helping Sam and Dean so much easier, and then he’d have more insurance against being kicked out of the bunker.

_Useless. Broken. Defective. _The memories of how other angels had described him popped up like prairie dogs out of their burrows. But then, with the texture of a cooling salve, Chuck’s words came back to him, erasing the others: _They hurt you so many times, you don’t even really remember how to be an angel anymore_.

What did it mean to be an angel? Was it being a warrior? A soldier? A cold, unfeeling, celestial being? New prairie dogs popped up, this time _angel _in different languages, as if flipping through cards. _Malakh, anhel, ángelos, cheonsa, ingelosi, tenshi, farishta, devdoot,_ _hreshtak, zanj, angelus_. In every language: _messenger_. What message?

Castiel was eager to follow that thought but then Sam lowered his hand. Time to breathe.

“What did you notice?”

It took a moment for Castiel to organize his response. “My pain disappeared almost immediately. Then memories of being called broken or useless came up. And then how to say ‘angel’ in different languages. Did you know that it means ‘messenger’?”

Sam nodded. “I did. The English word came from the Greek, and the Greek word came from the Hebrew, but I figured what a word meant and what you guys really are might not match. Tell me, did you think about that intentionally, or did it just come up?”

“It just came up. Along with something Chuck told me the other day. That I don’t remember how to be an angel anymore. I thought he meant because I had fallen. He probably did mean it that way.”

“Maybe.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe not. Ready to go again?” At Castiel’s nod, Sam raised his hand. “Just notice.”

Castiel hoped that he’d pick up the thread about what message, and if that was related to what Chuck had told him, but the ink spot was mesmerizing as it floated back and forth, his eyes following it now of their own accord, without him having to focus on it. In the same way a flashback supplanted his vision of his present surroundings, he found himself hovering over a landscape dotted with doors, his wings working perfectly, effortlessly. He peeked in one door, saw the memory that he’d had earlier about the destruction of Sodom, and flew back out before he got lost in it. Another door held the memory of speaking to the boy Isaac. A third when he was sent to rescue Dean from Hell. _What is this place?_

At his silent question, all the doors save one faded into translucency. The one that didn’t grew larger and closer, the door opening wider as it seemed to approach him. He entered, curious, unafraid. Energy swirled around and near him, formless but intentional. With the intention came words. _Na’aseh adam b’tzalmeinu kidmuteinu. Let us make human in our image, like us._ With that, a subtle shift in the universe, and Castiel found himself observing a beach as a wayward fish was prompted to heave itself up on the sand.

“Don’t step on that fish, Castiel,” Gabriel said, his voice laced with humor and kindness even when he was serious. “Big plans for that fish.”

Castiel studied the fish more carefully. It was small and gray, nothing to look at, really. Completely unremarkable, aside from its desire to be on land instead of in the water. And yet now he understood: within that fish lay the potential to become what he found so fascinating. Humanity. And at a certain appointed time: Dean. In that moment, he felt a rush of protectiveness for that fish, wanting to prevent it from feeling pain, from enduring hardships. He felt the semblance of a hand on his shoulder, confident and supportive, followed by an instruction: _Watch over them_.

Moments later, the scene faded, and he was back outside the door, dissolving again to become the bunker, and the ink spot making its two-foot journey from right to left and back again. Sam lowered his hand, Castiel breathed, and the expected words were a loaded question.

“What did you notice?”

“A…fish?”

“You noticed a fish?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“Maybe it was Salmon Dean,” Dean joked.

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to ignore his brother. “Just a fish?”

“It was… I remembered creation. And the words that led to a fish beaching itself so it could walk on land and eventually, through eons of evolution, become _homo sapiens_. Humans. And I was told to watch over them.”

“Still creepy,” Dean said.

“My mission,” Castiel clarified. “I remembered my mission.”

“To watch over us?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. It’s a lot to process right now.”

“Okay. Are you ready to do another one?”

Castiel took another long breath like the ones after each set. “Yes. I can do this.”

“You don’t have to. We can stop.”

“No. I want to continue.”

Sam gave him a compassionate smile. “Just notice.”

The ink spot and bunker dissolved into complete darkness, and Castiel was anxious until he recognized the feel of the place. The Empty.

“…constant, festering disappointment?” The irritating voice, a discordant frequency between two-thousand and four-thousand Hertz, buzzed under his skin, and Castiel briefly shifted his awareness to his very real vessel, safe in the bunker, to remind himself that this was indeed only a memory, even as the voice droned on. “Save yourself,” the voice prompted.

And there it was: the call to sleep, to sink into the silent blackness and be rid of the pain, the brokenness, the failures that followed him everywhere he went, in everything he did.

“I am saved,” he recalled saying. But was he? And saved from what?

The scene shifted into something new, the Empty lighting up to reveal a deserted soundstage covered in dark fabric. The cosmic entity seemed unaware of the change, its focus entirely on Castiel as it aimed its foot and kicked.

With a loud bang, one of the soundstage doors swung open and Chuck walked in. Or maybe a semblance of Chuck. _Just notice_.

Chuck came over and put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, fitting perfectly with the confident, supportive pressure he’d felt during that last set, when he remembered creation. “You’re my angelic success story,” Chuck said.

“Nonsense,” the cosmic entity retorted. “He can’t even sleep correctly. Has to be up and yapping his mouth, the ingrate.”

“You don’t even remember how to be an angel,” Chuck said, ignoring the cosmic entity.

“Some angel. Always needing to be saved instead of saving others.”

“You’ve lost too much already,” Chuck said.

Through the soundstage door, Metatron walked in, holding an empty vial and an angel blade, followed by Naomi with her drill.

“I didn’t lose it,” Castiel said, backing away. “It was taken from me.”

“Sit, Castiel,” Naomi said, pointing to her chair that now occupied the center of the soundstage.

“No…”

“You embraced it, and ran with it,” Chuck said. _Ran with it_. Chuck nodded once. “Run with it, Castiel.”

In the distance, Castiel could hear Dean’s voice, his tone filled with worry. “Sam, you’ve got to stop it. Bring him back!”

Run with it. _Run with it_.

“It was taken!” Castiel shouted. “I didn’t _lose_ it! My grace, my wings, my mission… I. Never. Lost. It.”

_Run with it_.

“I made some terrible choices, but always, _always _to protect them! To save _them_. I never forsook my mission.” He glanced around, from the cosmic entity to Naomi, Metatron to Chuck. “I am _not _broken. I am _not _a failure. I tried. I kept trying, over and over, and you kept _taking _and _taking_, and still I tried, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

Waves of regret and anger and hurt tore through him, shaking him. He heard an audible cry and wondered if it was his own. Still the shaking continued, though now focused on his upper arms. Why…?

_I am safe. I’m in the bunker_. He focused on his upper arms, feeling hands there. With monumental effort, he brought himself back to the present, feeling fingers, toes, and those hands still shaking him. He shrugged them off, the movement causing them to still. As the bunker came back into focus, he saw Dean kneeling in front of him, his hands on Castiel’s arms. Sam still sat across from him, breathing harder than he should for someone who’d just been sitting.

“I’m… I’m okay,” he managed to say.

“Good.” Dean breathed out a sigh of obvious relief as he returned to his chair. “You had me scared, man.”

“It was…intense.” He looked at Sam and did the breathing thing, noting that it did calm him further.

“So…what did you notice?” Sam asked, sounding a little unsure.

“It was like a confrontation. The Empty, Naomi, Metatron, Chuck, me. I don’t think I can even explain it. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” Sam wrote something down. “I think we should wrap up for today. What do you think?”

“I… Yes.”

“Is there a positive statement or belief that you _can_ believe as a result of today?”

“I never forsook my mission.”

Sam started to write, then stopped. “Can you rephrase that into something positive?” He shrugged. “That’s what they say to do. Like an affirmation.”

Dean snorted. “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it—”

“Dean!” Sam snapped.

Castiel thought for a moment. “I have been, and continue to be, successful in following my mission.”

“Cool.” Sam raised his hand. “This set will be slower and smaller. Just keep repeating that affirmation to yourself as you follow my hand, okay?”

Castiel nodded, eyes trained on the ink spot. _I have been, and continue to be, successful in following my mission_. He was aware of Dean fidgeting beside him, and his own internal landscape feeling like someone had scrambled it like an egg.

After three repetitions, Sam lowered his hand. “How’re you doing now, Cas?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that. I can say with some degree of certainty, however, that this method works. At least on me, as I am right now.”

“That’s great. According to most of the research, this shouldn’t be done more often than once a week. You’ll continue to process on your own, even up to several days later. I don’t want to make this worse, but…”

“I understand,” Castiel said. “We don’t have that kind of time. We still need to find Jack and stop him from hurting anyone else.”

“Well… Let me know how you feel tomorrow, okay? Maybe we’ll skip tomorrow and do another session the next day.” Sam stood and returned his chair where it belonged at the table. “Dean, take care of him. Cas, let Dean dote on you a bit. This is heavy stuff.”

Castiel nodded, then slowly stood and stretched. His muscles felt sore, not a sensation that was familiar.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Dean asked as he replaced both their chairs.

“That would be nice.”

“Dean Cave or my room?”

Castiel weighed the options. “I think I would prefer your room. I would like to lie down, and your mattress is more comfortable than those chairs.”

“You got it. Go lay down and I’ll make some popcorn and be in in a bit.”

“Thank you, Dean.”


	10. Chapter Ten

Although Castiel was comfortable in Dean’s room, he hesitated to lay down until Dean had arrived with a bowl of popcorn and a laptop. It seemed somehow presumptuous, and more than anything, Castiel felt the need for the safety and support of Dean’s proximity. He didn’t dare risk overstepping his bounds.

“I queued up _Raiders of the Lost Ark_,” Dean said, settling onto the right side next to his nightstand. “Figured a little action would be okay, but not too much, given what you’ve been through today. Plus, can’t go wrong with Harrison Ford.”

“That’s very considerate, Dean.” Castiel sat carefully on the left side, hyperaware of the space between them. He wanted less space. No, that wasn’t true. He wanted _no _space. But he wasn’t sure Dean would be open to that.

Dean set the bowl of popcorn between their hips and fiddled with the computer. “Scoot a little closer, will you?” he asked. “I can rest this between our knees.”

Castiel wasted no time moving closer, feeling the warmth from the popcorn bowl and wishing it was warmth from Dean’s body.

Two key taps on the laptop and the movie began.

“You comfy?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. He wasn’t, not really, not internally, but there seemed little point in bringing that up. He tried a few popcorn kernels. _Zea mays everta_ and triglycerides. The movie, however, caught his attention.

“Why is the dateline set in Ecuador when it appears he is in Peru and that actual location is clearly the island of Kauai?”

“It’s the jungle, Cas. Don’t judge.”

“Yes, Dean, but the Peruvian jungle doesn’t extend far into Ecuador, and he would encounter a border crossing if he started in Ecuador and moved into Peru.”

Dean paused the movie. “Cas?”

“Yes?”

“It’s a movie. It’s to enjoy, not pick apart for inaccuracies.”

“Well, if we’re talking about inaccuracies, there never was a Hovito people.”

“Cas.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Are you going to do this throughout the movie?”

Castiel started to answer honestly, then changed his mind. The important thing was to be with Dean. “No.”

“Good. The great thing about fiction is that creators can take artistic license. It’s all about enjoying the ride.”

Castiel nodded and shifted so he was leaning a little closer to Dean.

“You want more popcorn?” Dean asked.

“No.”

Dean moved it into his lap, between the computer and his stomach. “C’mere.” He wrapped his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “You look tired. You sure you’re up to watching this?”

“I think so.”

“’Kay. Tell me if you wanna stop.” Dean started the movie up again.

Nodding again, Castiel settled against Dean’s side, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. He relaxed into the half-embrace, his inner tumult easing a little and giving way to an unfamiliar fatigue. Allowing himself to get lost in the story, he didn’t speak again until the Ark of the Covenant was revealed. “That is not what the Ark looked like.”

“Cas…” Dean said, a hint of warning in his tone.

“Sorry.” At some point his eyes slid shut and he was unaware of the movie ending until Dean was jostling him awake.

“You should sleep if you can,” Dean said softly.

“I feel like I might need to.”

“Then sleep.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Castiel could feel Dean’s chin nestled in his hair, almost touching his scalp. “I… Could… Could I stay with you?”

“Yeah, of course. Not like you haven’t before.”

“But I was human then.”

“And you need it now. But I’m not dragging your nightstand back in if you’re gonna go back to not sleeping when you’ve recovered.”

“Don’t need a nightstand,” Castiel said. Or tried to. He was pretty sure it came out sounding like _doh nee nice_.

“All right, Sleepyhead. Shoes and coats off.” Dean came around the bed and tugged off his shoes, then helped him out of both coats. He pulled back the covers. “In you go.”

“Thank you,” Castiel mumbled.

“You’re welcome. Same rules as before, though, okay? You stay on your side.”

Even though his fatigue, Castiel could feel disappointment. “Of course, Dean.”

When Castiel awoke, Dean’s side of the bed was empty and cold. He sat up, feeling no more rested than he had the night before. His grace level remained steady, though, so it must have something to do with this therapy. And thinking about that made him feel even more tired and wishing he could curl up in Dean’s bed and stay there forever.

Instead, he stood and pulled his coats and shoes back on, then went to the kitchen in search of coffee, hoping that might help him get through the day. It worked for Dean, anyway.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean greeted from where he and Sam sat at the kitchen table as Castiel entered. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Dean handed him a cup, and Castiel sipped it, only to make a face as the bitter brew hit his tongue. “This doesn’t taste right.”

“It’s the same coffee I always make,” Sam said.

“It’s bitter,” Castiel complained.

“Someone didn’t get enough sleep,” Dean said.

“_Someone_ is being unnecessarily critical,” Castiel shot back.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Sam asked. “You seem…edgy this morning.”

“Maybe I am,” Castiel snapped. “Maybe I’m not some _pet _you can train.”

“Whoa, Cas…” Sam held his hands up in a submissive gesture, and Castiel’s eyes were drawn to that same ink spot, now a bit faded, presumably after several hand-washings.

“Don’t show me—” Castiel turned his head away. “I don’t want to see your hand right now.”

Sam lowered his hands. “Ah. Yeah, they said this might happen.”

“What?” Castiel couldn’t help the irritation in his voice.

“Post-EMDR processing. Moodiness, irritation, fatigue.”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” Dean said, standing and moving toward Castiel. “Cas, what do you need?”

“I can’t have what I need, so I’m going out for a walk,” Castiel said, leaving the kitchen as fast as he dared, and trying to stay away from Dean. “Don’t follow me.”

“Cas, wait!” Dean called, but Castiel was faster, moving up the stairs and out through the thick steel door. He took the steps to the road and turned right, away from Lebanon, though he knew he wouldn’t walk too far. A swirl of sensations—_feelings_—throughout his vessel were more than he thought he could handle. Even when he’d been human, it hadn’t been this overwhelming. Forces beyond his control had him wanting to yell, punch something, run until he couldn’t anymore, even stab himself with his angel blade.

_That _thought came with guilt. Sam and Dean needed him to find and stop Jack. And given Dean’s earlier outbursts, he might be the only thing preventing Dean from killing Jack. He continued along the heavily forested path, thinking about Jack. Jack, who’d killed a pet snake out of misguided compassion, who’d clearly tortured Nick before killing him, who’d killed Mary, who may not have a soul anymore. Jack, who was possibly the most powerful being in the universe right now, could conceivably wipe out the planet with less effort than it would have taken the alternate-world Michael, and yet Castiel still thought there was hope for him.

He found an appealing tree and sat beneath it, resting his back against the rough bark. If Jack wasn’t stopped, he _could_ end the world. And yet Castiel still saw worth in him. Hope. Potential. Promise. Was it possible that he could eke out some hope, potential, and promise for himself too? Even after all he’d done? Or had he done too much? Failed too many times? Dean didn’t seem to think so. Or Sam. But then, Castiel hadn’t been completely honest with Dean. There was one secret he didn’t think he’d ever share. Couldn’t. Because that really would be his undoing.

There was a hollow, rushing noise, and Castiel saw the scenery change again. Rolling hills dotted with thick, twisted oak trees and tall, golden grasses surrounded him.

“He is as my own soul,” a young man said to him. “I cannot bear to tell him to leave and yet his life is in danger. My father _will _kill him.”

“Your love for him is a noose around his neck, Jonathan,” Castiel told him. “Would you have your bond with him cause his death?”

“No. But I cannot send him away. He is… I love him. You understand that?”

A rustle of wings announced Uriel’s arrival. “No!” Uriel commanded. “You will _forget_ that love. It has no place here.”

“I am certain our Father is utterly indifferent to sexual orientation,” Castiel said, unhappy with Uriel’s strong assertion.

“No, Castiel,” Uriel turned on him. “_You _don’t understand. David _must_ be released. We have plans for him. This one?” He indicated Jonathan. “Expendable. You will _not _subvert Heaven’s plans for a _feeling_.”

“But love is—”

“Weak,” Uriel interrupted. “A liability. It only leads to pain and death. It will _lose_ the war.” With another rustle of wings, he left.

“I understand,” Jonathan said in the empty silence that followed. I will obey, my lord. I will create a plan to let him know he cannot stay.”

“It is for the best,” Castiel agreed.

Over angel radio he heard a summons from Naomi. _Uriel has spoken to me. You will report to my office immediately._ With barely a nod to Jonathan, he flew to Naomi’s office to find her waiting for him. With her drill. He bowed his head in shame.

“Compassion?” she sneered. “Sympathy? And now love? Castiel, you have fallen too far. I don’t know what is wrong with you, but this defect _must _be corrected. Now, sit down and hold still.”

Pain erupted in Castiel’s head and back. He thought at first it was his wings again, but it was too sharp, and in somewhat the wrong place.

“Cas! Cas, answer me!”

He blinked several times, bringing Dean’s face into focus, the sharp pain in his back coming from the tree bark that scraped against him as Dean shook him.

“I’m…I’m okay, Dean.”

“The hell you are. You left angry. You were just out here screaming and holding your head. And I nearly couldn’t bring you back. That’s not ‘okay’ in any universe.” He held one hand out to help Castiel up. “Let’s go home. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Castiel allowed himself to be pulled up, even as he felt his vessel trembling. The pain in his head was nearly unbearable, and he stumbled several times as they made their way toward the bunker.

“Gonna give you a bottle of Tylenol and you’re gonna lay down in my bed and rest,” Dean said. “You hear?”

_You will forget that love. It has no place here._ Uriel’s words pounded through his head in time with the pulsing of Naomi’s drill.

“Not your bed,” Castiel managed to say through the pain.

“Why not? Thought you liked my memory foam?”

“I…can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I _can’t!_” Castiel pulled himself away from Dean, running, stumbling, feet catching him as he drove himself forward, until they didn’t, and the ground came up at him with a vicious thud.


	11. Chapter Eleven

“We gotta help him, Sam.” Dean paced around the war room as if planning his own battle. Which, in a way, he was, except this was all in Cas’ head, and Dean was fighting blind.

“We are, Dean.” Sam sat back in his chair, looking entirely too relaxed. “It takes time. He’s got to process it at his own speed. I told you that already.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I found him screaming and begging at the base of a tree. How do we know this is even going to help?”

“I trust Cas. He said he thinks it’s working.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Think it’s working? Or you don’t trust him?”

“Come on, you’ve seen him. He’ll give and give until there’s nothing left. When does he ever ask for anything for himself? When does Cas take care of Cas?”

“He did sleep in your bed last night.”

Dean stopped pacing. “Yeah. So?”

“So, did you offer it, or did he ask?”

“He asked. Kinda anxious, actually. Like he thought I was gonna say no. I did tell him I wasn’t dragging his nightstand back in if this was a one-off.”

“Uh-huh. What else did you tell him?”

“Not much. He was pretty out of it. I said same rules as last time. Stay on your own side, yadda, yadda. Last thing I need is to wake up with him trying to spoon me.”

“Right.” Sam nodded once. “So that was the last thing _you _needed. What do you suppose _he _needed?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I’m not the one playing psychologist here.”

“Okay. Sit down.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If you’re gonna give me a lecture, save it.”

“Dean? Sit. Down.”

Dean stared at him for a few moments. When did his brother get so bossy? “Fine. Lemme grab a beer first.” He took his time going to the kitchen, browsing all four of the bottles in the fridge, making a note to do another beer run soon. After popping the cap, he took a few swallows before going back to Sam and sitting down across from him at the map table.

“Sitting.”

Sam gave him bitchface #9, the one that made Dean want to simultaneously laugh and slap it off his face. “Let’s review.” Sam’s tone was sanctimonious. “Cas is having flashbacks not only to memories that he’s always remembered, but new ones of being tortured by Naomi. Said torture is effectively being given a lobotomy with a drill. Sound about right?”

“Yeah.”

“After doing EMDR, you guys watch a movie in your room, right?”

“Yeah. Watched _Raiders_ and he pointed out every inaccuracy. Where are you going with this?”

“How did you sit while watching the movie?”

“We weren’t painting each other’s toenails, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m serious, Dean. You guys usually sit pretty close, especially when you’re watching a movie.”

“Well, we kinda have to. Small laptop screen.”

“And last night?”

Dean downed more of his beer, then wiped his mouth and chin with his hand. “Yeah, we were pretty close. I had the laptop resting on our thighs. His and mine.”

“And your arms?”

“What do you want me to say, Sam? Yeah, I had my arm around his shoulders. Guy was asleep before the movie was over. Probably drooled on my shoulder.”

“And did he seem to want that?”

“What? I guess.”

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “For someone who catches a lot of detail, Dean, you are really oblivious here. What makes you think he maybe wanted that?”

“I don’t know. When he seemed to be falling asleep, I pulled him a little closer so he didn’t fall off the side of the bed, and he kinda relaxed into me and put his head on my shoulder. More relaxed than usual, I guess. He looked pretty uncomfortable before, but I figured that was from the therapy or whatever.”

“Would you say you were offering him comfort?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess.” He watched as Sam geared up for another bitchface. “Okay, yeah, I offered him some comfort, and he seemed to really want it.”

“And then he asked to stay in your room. In your bed. With you.”

“Yeah. Already told you that.”

“And then you told him to stay on his side.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause it would otherwise be…you know…awkward.”

“So, you offered him some comfort, and then you pushed him away.”

“I didn’t _push_ him, Sam. I set some boundaries. That’s a good thing.”

“You offered him comfort, and then you withdrew it, and then this morning he’s pissed and hurting and refusing to rest in your bed. Because you ‘set boundaries.’”

“What, you’re saying I need to hug it out with him?”

“No. I’m saying that he wanted comfort. He _wants_ and _needs _comfort. And instead of focusing on what he needs, you’re setting boundaries, so he doesn’t cross some invisible line that—let’s be honest, Dean—you haven’t cared about with him in a long time.”

“Hugs ain’t gonna cure this, Sammy.”

“I’m not saying they will. I’m saying that he’s probably staying away from you and your room because he thinks he can’t have what he needs. Something you’ve already offered him.”

Dean couldn’t sit any longer. He stood and resumed pacing. “And why would he want me? Or comfort from me, anyway? How’s a broken hunter and a sad excuse for a human supposed to comfort an _angel_? Huh?”

Huffing out a breath, Sam shook his head. “Don’t worry about _how_. Just know that he finds comfort in being with you. Despite what you said to him the other day. That’s it. Just _be there_ for him. Show him you care.”

Examining the label on the bottle for a few moments, Dean tried to figure out why the idea of showing Cas he cared seemed like both manna from heaven and the forbidden fruit, all rolled into one. And when did he start thinking in biblical terms?

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“I don’t think we should do EMDR today,” Sam added. “I think he needs some time to recover. To experience that comfort. So, I don’t really want to see him or you until dinner. Okay?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“I don’t want to _hear_ you either.”

“We’ll keep the movie volume low, so as not to offend your sensitive ears.”

Sam rolled his eyes again. “Uh-huh.”

* * *

Dean found his room empty, as expected. He went to Cas’ room and knocked on the closed door. “Cas? You in there?”

Silence.

“Cas? I need you to answer me, or I’m comin’ in.”

There was some movement behind the door. “You don’t need to worry about me, Dean.”

“I’m not…” Dean let out a frustrated grunt. “Open the door, Cas.”

After several very long minutes, Cas opened the door a crack. “What?” he demanded.

_Shit. Now what? Heya, Cas, want a hug?_ “Um…”

“I’m fine. You’ve done your due diligence. I don’t want to do a session today. I’m tired, my head hurts, and as you might say, I have no more fucks to give.” Cas started to close his door, but Dean shoved his foot in the way.

“Look, I can’t leave you alone like this.”

“Why not? It’s never bothered you before.”

“Okay. I deserved that. But look, _because_ you’re tired, you hurt, and you’re…fuckless…”

Cas did an eye roll that involved his entire upper body.

“I wanna do what I can to help. Distract you, maybe, or just…you know…” He shrugged. “Be here for you.”

“Sam talked to you, didn’t he?”

Dean looked away before chancing another look at Cas. “Yeah.”

There was a softening to Cas’ face. “I really am okay.”

“I know. And I still don’t want to leave you alone.”

Cas was silent for a while. “Okay. A movie would be nice. Maybe something light?”

Snapping his fingers and pointing, Dean said, “I’ve got just the thing! _Princess Bride_. Also, you can’t bother me by interrupting it because it interrupts itself! Maybe _How to Train Your Dragon_ after that.”

“Dragon training?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, it’s this adorable black dragon that befriends a boy and…” Dean stopped, looking at Cas carefully. “You already know about this.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Cas’ lips. “I did. But I like to see your enjoyment. Also, you said _adorable_.”

“Shut up.”

Cas opened the door completely. “I don’t think you want me to do that.”

“Yeah. You’re right. So…movies in my room in ten?”

Cas smiled. A real, rare smile, and that was all Dean needed to know it was worth it.

* * *

Cas seemed tense when Dean brought the laptop back into his room and sat down, much like he’d been the night before. This time, Dean paid attention. “Kick your shoes off and get comfy. You look like I’m about to do a white-glove inspection of your weapon, soldier.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at that, but removed his shoes and coats and climbed onto the bed, keeping a good eighteen inches between them.

“C’mon over here. I’m not gonna bite.” Dean paused. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

Immediately, Cas looked disappointed and moved farther away. “Dean…”

“No, I’m sorry, Cas. I shouldn’t have teased you like that. Guess I’m kinda sending mixed signals here, huh?”

“You are, yes. I don’t know if you’re serious or teasing. I don’t feel like being teased right now.”

“I’ll stop teasing. Come on. I’ve got snacks. One of the best movies ever made. And a shoulder to rest on. You being all the way over there feels weird.”

After a few moments, Cas scooted over until they were side-by-side, and Dean could feel Cas relax when their shoulders touched. _Yeah, he definitely needs this_. He put his arm around Cas’ like he had the night before, and without thinking, dropped a kiss onto the top of Cas’ head, reveling in how soft Cas’ hair was. Then he froze. _What the fuck did I just do?_ But Cas didn’t say anything about it, and if possible, scooted even closer, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.

_What he needs_, Dean reminded himself. It was just a friendly, platonic, brotherly kiss on the head. No big deal. But then Dean thought about Cas’ lips, and what it might be like to kiss them, and that whole manna/forbidden fruit feeling came back. He shoved it down, buried it, and started the movie.


	12. Chapter Twelve

After a day of resting, watching movies, and getting to spend some time just _being _with Dean, Castiel felt much more ready to face a new day and try a second session. He knew that Dean was a little out of his comfort zone—his constant use of teasing to deflect his real feelings was obvious—but he was grateful for what Dean had offered, and he would treasure those memories forever.

As he sat in a chair in the library, with Sam across from him and Dean getting comfortable next to him again, he tried to clear his mind for this session.

“How’s this for distance, Cas?” Sam asked, motioning to the space between them.

“It’s…” Sam seemed farther away than last time. “You could actually be a bit closer.”

“Cool.” After scooting his chair closer, Sam raised his hand as if he was going to start moving it. “This good?”

“Yes.”

Sam consulted his notepad. “Okay, so we’re still working with the image of Naomi holding her drill, right?”

“Yes.”

“And the untrue belief that there’s something wrong with you.”

Castiel nodded.

“And the belief you want to have, that you’re worthy.”

“Yes,” Castiel repeated.

“Okay, let’s do the scale again. On a scale of one to seven, holding in your mind both the image of Naomi with her drill and the statement that you’re worthy, how believable is that statement?”

Memories from the previous session came unbidden. _I am _not_ broken. I am _not_ a failure. I tried. I kept trying, over and over, and you kept taking and taking, and still I tried_.

“Four?” Castiel answered, not quite certain if that was accurate. It was close.

“Good! Progress.” Sam offered an encouraging smile. “And on a scale of one to ten, how much stress do you feel with that image and thought together?”

The image still had him cringing. But instead of all fear, he felt anger now too. A hint of righteous fury. Naomi should not have done what she did. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that much. “Six.”

“Excellent.” Sam raised his hand. “Just notice.”

Castiel followed Sam’s hand back and forth, again feeling at first like it was too fast, that he was lagging behind. He brought awareness to his head, making sure it stayed in one place while his eyes followed the movement. The muscles around his eyeballs ached as if unused to the motion. Gradually, he settled into the rhythmic back-and-forth, relaxing and letting himself float, certain now that he wasn’t about to leave his vessel.

Far sooner than he expected, Sam lowered his hand.

“Nice, easy breath in through your nose,” Sam said in a soft voice. “Let it all out through your mouth.” He waited patiently for Castiel to follow the instructions, then asked, “What did you notice?”

“My eyes hurt at first. As I became comfortable with the movement, it lessened.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

Castiel frowned. “No. Should there have been?”

“No shoulds here, Cas,” Sam said. “It’s whatever you notice. No right or wrong. Ready?” A pause. “Just notice.”

The image of Naomi with her drill became clearer—and larger—in his mind. Not only was he at a disadvantage, restrained in her chair and looking up at her, powerless, but as he saw it, she grew bigger and he grew smaller, until her drill was nearly as big as he was. Another few inches, and it would bore through his entire being, taking all of him, leaving nothing behind except disappointment and lost potential.

A memory of Dean’s voice cut through the image. _I need you_.

Castiel struggled against the shackles holding him in the chair as Naomi approached.

“Hold still, Castiel,” Naomi said.

“No!” Castiel said, breaking free from the shackles and kicking her away from him. “You don’t get to take any more from me!”

“Enough, Castiel.” With a flick of Naomi’s wrist, the chair reached out for him, pulling him back. Each step toward him that she took, she grew taller, broader, armor appearing and covering her in complete protection. Her drill became an angel blade, its tip already dripping grace and blood.

“No…” Castiel struggled harder. “Please…”

“You want to fight me?” Naomi taunted. “Then fight me. If I win, you submit completely. If you win, I’ll leave you alone.” She leaned in, pointed the drill at his eye, and whispered, “But you won’t win.”

_Have faith_.

Castiel wasn’t sure where the words came from, or even who said them, but he felt something shift in the energy around them.

And then Sam was lowering his hand.

Breathing in and out as instructed, Castiel wasn’t sure what emotions were coursing through his vessel. He wanted to return to the image, to fight Naomi, to drive that drill right through her skull and give her a taste of her own medicine. Another memory flickered. Didn’t someone already do that? But Naomi survived. And was trying to maintain Heaven.

“What did you notice?” Sam asked.

“I had an image of Naomi as very large and me as very small. I tried to fight her, and she tried to make a deal with me, that she’d leave me alone if I won. And someone said to have faith.”

“Who said that?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Sam raised his hand again. “Just notice.”

The rhythmic eye movements quickly faded into another scene. A valley that was part dirt, part scrubland, a mixture of green and brown and tan, littered with the casualties of war, surrounded by hills partially obscured with trees, which in turn hid soldiers planning their next battle. He was drawn to the energy of a young man, barely out of boyhood, who had been fervently praying even as he watched the closest army.

“What troubles you?” Castiel asked the young man.

“The _Plishti_—_Galyat_—taunts my people to fight. He is unworthy, yet my people fear him. No one will fight him, even though we are the people of El. And so I offered to fight him, and my brothers intervened, and said I am but a child and the battlefield is no place for me, but now I’m to be taken to the king. I was strong in my conviction before but now doubt has entered my soul. If I lose, my people will be enslaved.”

“Have faith,” Castiel said.

“How?”

Castiel saw the young man’s past flash before him. “Did you not protect the lambs over which you watched from bears and lions?”

“I did. And I smote the bears and lions and delivered the lambs back to their flock unharmed. I _will _protect that which I have sworn to shield.”

“You _are _the shield, David,” Castiel said. “As you were protected from the bears and lions, so too you will be protected in this. Cast aside your doubts. You have within you, and within your resources, everything you need to succeed.”

“Galyat has weapons of brass and iron.”

“And you have the Lord as your rock.” As Castiel said this, he saw David’s hand go to his sling, secured at his waist.

David bowed his head. “You have blessed me, my lord. I will do as you say.”

As Castiel flew from the valley, he was joined by Balthazar.

“Nice to see you getting out, Cassie,” Balthazar said. “Although maybe hang out with humans who _aren’t _fated to change the world?”

“His doubt was unnecessary pain,” Castiel said. “And don’t call me Cassie.”

“Aww, I only call you that because I love you. And right now, you need all the love you can get.”

This brought Castiel up short. “Why?”

“Naomi’s gunning for you again.”

“What have I done beyond ensure the plan that we all agree on?”

“Eh, you know Naomi. A little trigger-happy, if you know what I mean.”

“And you’re here to warn me?” Castiel asked.

“Erm…no. I’ve been ordered to escort you to her office. Look, I hate this as much as you do, Cassie. This little trip meant leaving a bed full of Kushite women.”

“My condolences.”

“And my thanks,” Balthazar replied, as if Castiel had been sincere.

“Have you ever been in Naomi’s chair?”

Balthazar seemed to think about it. “Not that I recall, no. Have you? Before?”

“I…” Castiel tried to chase the memories. “I know I have been _in _it. But I don’t remember why. Or what happened.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Balthazar said. “Unnecessary pain, right?”

He left as Castiel entered Naomi’s office.

“You were told not to interfere,” Naomi said, shaking her head with disappointment.

“He didn’t have enough faith,” Castiel argued. “I simply reassured him. You got the result you wanted, didn’t you?”

“That is entirely beside the point.” Naomi pointed to her chair. “Sit. Now. I’m going to make sure you don’t interfere again.”

Castiel sat, even as his mind screamed at him not to. But when Naomi brought her drill up, he turned his face away. Iron fingers grasped his jaw and forced him to look at her just before pain exploded in his head.

“Cas?” Naomi called to him. “Cas!”

Something wasn’t right. Naomi never called him Cas. Fighting the pain, he opened his eyes. _Dean. Bunker. Safe._ Dean was in front of him again, holding his hand, their skin hot where their palms touched. “You with us, Cas?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “Safe,” he rasped.

“Yeah. You’re safe. You okay if I sit back down? The floor is hell on my knees.”

“Yes.” Castiel looked over at Sam, who had both hands in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries, Cas. Just take an easy breath in…”

_Right. Breathing._ Castiel followed the instruction, letting the tension trickle out of his vessel.

“What did you notice?”

“I had a memory. Talking with David before his battle with Goliath.”

“Dude!” Dean broke in. “You were involved in _that _too?”

“I’ve been involved in many things, Dean. At any rate, I didn’t do much. Just reminded him that he had all he needed to defeat Goliath.”

“Was that the entire memory?” Sam asked.

“No. Balthazar was sent to bring me to Naomi’s office. She didn’t like that I’d interfered, even though what I did ensured the future Heaven wanted.”

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Wow. David and Goliath. And your part was reminding David that he was enough?”

“Yes. I might have dropped a hint about rocks.”

Sam nodded, smiling as if he knew something but wasn’t going to share it. “Okay, then. Just notice.”

Castiel settled back into the side-to-side movement, wondering what would come up this time. The symbol referred to as a _magen David—_David’s shield, the six-pointed star—seemed to float in his inner vision, before it grew larger and took the place of Naomi’s chair. His neck, wrists and ankles were shackled to five of the star’s points, spread-eagled and helpless. Naomi approached then, far taller than Sam, with silver wings, feathers sharp as knives. She lunged at him with an angel blade, and Castiel somehow twisted his body around, still bound to the star, so that her blade shattered against the back of the star.

He tilted forward and slashed at her with the top point, pivoting to avoid her blade. Although the star offered some protection, it was large and unwieldy. Castiel itched to have it in his hand, more _shuriken_ than shield. He could almost feel it, the smooth, flat metal between his fingers, ready to fly out from his hand and do his bidding.

With that sensation also came a tightness around his eyes as they moved back and forth in their sockets. _I am safe. I have control here. _He summoned his grace and broke through the shackles, shrinking the star until it fit as he visualized it in his hand. Taking only a moment to aim, he threw it at Naomi, catching her in the forehead. As blood streamed down her face, he manifested his own angel blade and stabbed her in the chest, and as her grace exploded around him, he felt something loosen in himself.

Unexpected movement caught his attention and he blinked, seeing Sam lower his hand.

“Easy breath in,” Sam encouraged.

Castiel felt a tightness across his vessel’s chest, and he seemed to be breathing harder than required, considering breathing technically wasn’t necessary at all.

“Let it all out on the exhale.” Sam waited a few moments. “What did you notice?”

“Naomi came after me again. But this time I realized I was in control. I fought and killed her.”

“Damn straight,” Dean said.

Sam side-eyed his brother before returning to Castiel. “That’s good. Do you need to say anything more about it?”

“No. Well… It felt different. When she died. In the image. Something changed…in me.”

“Okay. Just notice.”

Castiel stood alone in Naomi’s office. Ashen wings were burned into the floor, marring the otherwise pristine, white room. Except for a spot of color, or several spots, floating in a large, clear jar on the credenza behind Naomi’s desk. Intrigued, Castiel went over to examine it. Multicolored wisps moved around within the jar, suspended in air, and seemed to grow excited and bumped against the walls of the jar as he drew closer. As he put his hand to the glass, the wisps gathered as close as possible, trying to rub themselves on him, like so many ethereal cats. Prompted by some instinct, he lifted the top off the jar, and the wisps immediately flew to him, caressing his face, making some sort of tiny purring noise before they gathered in front of his mouth and paused, as if asking permission.

There was an echo of his grace in these colorful tendrils, and he opened himself to them. Places where he’d felt incomplete or unsure, where he had his own doubts and questions, were touched by these wisps, knitting together torn edges, smoothing over rough patches, filling deep pockets of shame and self-loathing.

Chuck’s words echoed again in his memory. _I’m going to give it back to you, undo the damage they caused. It’ll be easier to trust yourself, to know exactly who and what you are._

“But I still don’t know exactly who and what I am,” Castiel said to the empty room. He looked around; only painful memories remained here. They could continue to remain here, Castiel decided, and he had no reason to return.

As Sam’s hand lowered, Castiel felt a calmness that he hadn’t felt in ages. A surety that he would find a way through this, even if he still lacked direction. He breathed in slowly, easily, imagining he was again inhaling those colorful wisps, reclaiming the parts of him that had been taken, whether by violence or misguided attempts to help. As he exhaled, he let go of the ties to Naomi. It didn’t matter that she was still alive, keeping Heaven running. Where it mattered, he’d won. She couldn’t hurt him anymore.

“What did you notice?” Sam asked.

“Naomi had a jar of the parts of me that she’d extracted. Not really, but in the image I had during this…”

“Set?” Sam provided.

“Yes. I opened the jar and took all those parts back into me. Like tiny pieces of my grace. They’re not,” he added quickly, with a glance to Dean. “I’m no more powered now than before, but I feel different.”

Sam nodded, writing on his pad. “More whole, maybe?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“That’s great, Cas,” Dean said. “Maybe I need to try this sometime.”

“I think…” Castiel started to say. “I think that you should only try it if your memories are keeping you from living your life.”

Dean shrugged as if he was trying to look nonchalant. “Mine are mostly buried under gallons of booze and a mountain of determination and self-blame.”

“Exactly my point. Do you really want to face all of that head-on?”

After considering that for a moment, Dean shook his head. “Nah. What’s past should stay past, right?”

“If it can,” Castiel agreed.

“Do you want to do another set, Cas, or move on to an affirmation?” Sam asked.

“I think I’m ready to move on.”

“Okay. What positive statement do you want to focus on this time?”

“I am whole,” Castiel said slowly. “And free. And alive,” he added quickly. “Alive and whole and free.”

“Okay.” Sam raised his hand, and for the first time today, Castiel realized the ink spot was gone. “I am alive and whole and free.”

As Sam moved his hand slowly, barely shifting side to side, Castiel repeated the affirmation to himself, then had the thought that _alive _and _whole _and _free_ were largely meaningless to an angel. But they were powerful to a human, to a being that wanted to feel, to experience, to _live_. And maybe if angels embraced wholeness, aliveness, and freedom—including free will—they’d be more than fighting and killing machines.

His gaze lowered as Sam’s hand did, and he did the inhale and exhale as Sam had taught him, but he couldn’t help but think about what this meant for any sort of integration between his angelic and human parts.

“I am alive and whole and free,” Sam whispered, his hand moving slowly in another set.

After repeating the words silently again, Castiel appended the statement in his mind. _I fight when I must, but I am not a soldier. I am a messenger._ And in that moment, the truth of his message became clear. _My message is life. Choose life. Choose to live._

Something else shifted in his mind then. Images from his memories—Avraham, Yitzhak, Lot, Jonathan, David—in every one, he was advocating life. Human life meant little to most angels. Mud monkeys, eking out a few years of what passed for living, then tucked away in their private heavens. But their lives _did _matter to Castiel. Dean’s life mattered. Sam’s life mattered. The lives they saved mattered.

_My life matters._

That was a jarring thought, and he almost forgot to follow Sam’s hand as it lowered. Inhale. Exhale. _My life matters_.

“How are you doing?” Sam asked.

“I… That was…powerful.”

“Yeah? That’s good. That’s really good, Cas.” Sam paused. “So, I did a little more research, because I was concerned about doing these sessions so close together. Normally that’s ill-advised, but…”

“Jack.”

“Yeah, Jack. Well, all the research says that the processing your mind does on its own, in between sessions, can be more intense than if we did these once a week. More like yesterday. So, go easy, okay? Keep that in mind.” Sam looked at his brother. “You too, Dean.”

“Fragile Cas,” Dean said with a nod. “Got it.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “I am not fragile.”

“Gonna roll you in bubble wrap,” Dean continued with a teasing smile.

“As if that’s going to help.”

“Maybe not, but you’d be fun to pop.”

“Dean,” Sam said as he stood and replaced his chair, “take your conversation about popping Cas’ bubbles far away from me.”

“What?” Dean mirrored his brother, sliding his chair back under the table. “That’s not—”

“They’re _my _bubbles,” Castiel interrupted. “I get to decide what happens with them.”

“Yeah, there you go,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Sam. “Boundaries.”

“And I think I would like to talk about this more,” Castiel continued, staring at Dean, “in your room.”

“My work here is done,” Sam said. “And I _don’t_ want to hear you guys.”

“My room?” Dean asked, as if he hadn’t heard Castiel correctly.

“Yes, Dean. Now.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Dean wasn’t sure how he felt as they walked to his room. It was clear that whatever Cas was processing affected him deeply, but he hadn’t said much. What he really wanted to know was what was goin on in Cas’ head while he seemed to be doing nothing more than sitting and moving his eyes back and forth. How did that even work? Then again, throwing a bunch of herbs and dead animal parts in a bowl, reciting some Latin, and bleeding into it didn’t make a whole lot of sense either, and it clearly worked.

Dean entered his room behind Cas and closed his door. “What do you want to talk about?”

Cas’ shoulders sagged. “I wanted to share something that came up, but…” He sighed and his shoulders sagged even further.

“But what?”

“This has left me unusually drained.”

That was concerning. “Your grace?”

“No… At least, I don’t think so. I feel…tired. Much like when I was human and needed to sleep. My vessel feels much heavier than it did even a few minutes ago.”

“Well, Sam did say this could be intense. Makes sense that it’d make you tired. How ‘bout a nap?”

“I don’t know if I can sleep.”

Dean chewed his lip in thought. “Okay, how about we just kinda hang out on the bed and watch something? And if you fall asleep…” Dean couldn’t help the grin. “I’ll watch over you.”

Cas’ tiny huff told Dean he got the reference. “I would like that.”

“Any preferences?” Dean asked before he left to get the laptop.

“Something calming, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, I can do calming,” Dean argued. “I’m not all action and adventure.” He thought for a moment. “You ever seen _The Sixth Sense_? Bruce Willis?”

“Wasn’t he in that Christmas movie?”

“Dude. Do not reduce _Die Hard_ to ‘that Christmas movie.’ It’s so much more.”

“It’s also very loud. Not calming.”

“Fine. _The Sixth Sense_ it is. You get settled. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dean found the laptop in the library. He figured he’d queue up the movie before he got back in his room, just to have it ready to go, but first he had to exit out of all the browser tabs Sam had open. One caught his attention: **EMDR Therapy: Side Effects**. He clicked on it.

_Research has shown that EMDR is a safe and effective therapy for PTSD. However, certain side effects may occur, especially early on in treatment. Such side effects can include heightened emotions, sensory overload, increase of distressing memories, vivid dreams or nightmares, fatigue, and surfacing of new traumatic memories_.

Good to know. Dean wondered why Sam hadn’t mentioned this to him earlier. He bookmarked the site and closed it out, then set up the movie and returned to his room with the laptop.

Cas was sitting stiffly on top of the covers, his shoes and coats off, at least, but looking very uncomfortable.

After setting the laptop down on his side, Dean gestured to Cas. “This is not looking like Netflix and chill. This is looking more like seated before the firing squad.”

“Oh.” Cas looked around himself. “I’m sorry. I can—”

“You can make yourself comfortable, Cas. That’s what I asked you to do. You cold at all? You can get under the covers.”

Cas looked at the blanket and sheet beneath him. “I’m not cold, but… I do like being wrapped.”

“Nesting, huh?” Dean joked, imagining Cas with giant wings curling into a nest.

“Something like that,” Cas mumbled. He climbed out of bed, pulled the covers back, then slid in and covered himself up to his chest as he reclined against the headboard, his head just below the shelf.

Dean sat down on the bed, pulled the laptop over to them, and opened it to start the movie. “You might have questions,” he said. “But hang on to them until the end of the movie. I don’t wanna spoil anything. Okay?”

Nodding, Cas shuffled a bit closer, though still leaving several inches between them.

Clicking _play_, Dean settled in to watch, half of his attention on the movie, and half of it on Cas.

Ten minutes into the movie, Cas fell asleep. His head lolled onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean decided to keep it there. He brushed a few strands of hair off of Cas’ forehead and felt a surge of protectiveness, even though he knew Cas was probably stronger and more badass than anyone else he knew, including himself and Sam. The absurdity of the situation—that an angel was currently sleeping in his bed, on his shoulder, by choice—seemed incongruous with how Dean thought of himself. He didn’t have a lot to offer, especially to an angel. Then again, Cas did say that he’d learned a lot from Dean.

Cas mumbled something in his sleep, then scrunched his face up and tried to burrow into Dean’s shoulder.

“S’okay, Cas,” Dean said softly.

As Cas mumbled more, presumably in a dream, the only words Dean caught were _stealing_ and _food_.

“You sneaking food from the kitchen while we’re asleep?” Dean asked in a whisper, finding the thought amusing.

Cas began to breathe harder, even in his sleep. “Keep running,” he muttered. “Alone.”

“You’re not alone, Cas. You never have to be alone.”

At first, Cas seemed to have heard him, sighing and relaxing against Dean’s side. Then his breathing picked up again and he let out little breathy moans. Dean sat up straight, the movie forgotten, and listened for several moments. They didn’t seem to be moans of distress or whimpers of fear. They seemed more like… _Oh, hell, was he—?_

Half of Dean wanted to shove Cas away, let him have his sex dream anywhere but next to him. The other half couldn’t stop listening, his own breathing picking up in time with Cas’, and, _oh, God, those moans…_ Dean felt a jolt of jealousy at whoever was making Cas react that way.

In his most private moments, he could admit to finding the male form attractive, sometimes wishing for hard muscle instead of soft curves. And if he was _really _honest with himself, the idea of a man, both physically and emotionally strong, who could love him unconditionally and take care of him without an agenda beyond what Dean needed, was like the ultimate dream. But Winchesters didn’t get to live their dreams, and Dean could only play the crappy hand he’d been dealt.

Still, the sounds Cas was making went straight to his groin, and Dean wondered if he could help himself out a little while Cas was dreaming. Because, God, those sounds, especially if he knew _he _was the one who drew them out of Cas, were better than any porn.

He palmed himself through his jeans. Even the thought of Cas waking up and seeing Dean touching himself, and maybe how Cas might react to _that_, made him even harder. Generally, Cas seemed uninterested in sex; even that time with April the reaper, Cas seemed to see it as nothing more than educational. But Cas didn’t have any sort of bond with April, and the reaper used and killed him. Would sex mean more with someone with whom Cas had a profound bond?

Dean reached under his waistband, consequences be damned, and was panting just from the anticipation of jerking off to Cas’ moans next to him, when the moans turned to anguish. _That _was not a sexy sound, and Dean jostled Cas with his shoulder, trying to wake him.

“Cas. Cas!”

“…lied…” Cas mumbled, starting to thrash about.

Dean caught Cas’ arm before it smacked him in the face and shook him harder. “Cas! Wake up! Cas!”

With a gasp, Cas awoke and scrambled away from Dean, nearly losing his balance and falling off the side of the bed. He panted a few times, then his eyes cleared. “Dean.”

“Hey. Yeah. You had a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It happens. You okay?”

Cas appeared to take stock of himself, then resumed his initial reclining position on the bed. “I will be. Please don’t stop the movie on my account.”

“No, hey, I’m not going right back to the movie after that. It seemed like it was kind of a, you know, _good _dream, until it wasn’t.”

“It was… April.”

“_April?_ Dean repeated. “How was any of that a good dream?”

Cas looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Look, I know you had sex with her. Before you knew what she was and what she wanted.”

Nodding, Cas remained silent.

For the first time, something occurred to Dean. “Was it…consensual?”

Cas shrugged. A very un-Cas-like gesture, as far as Dean was concerned. “She offered me food. And shelter. And medical aid,” Cas finally said. “It seemed like a small price to pay for that. And while she meant nothing more to me than a safe place to be—although safe is the last thing she was—it did…feel good. I wouldn’t have chosen to do that with her, specifically, but I learned that there were physical sensations I was previously unaware of. Ones that I did enjoy.”

“So you like sex, but not with a reaper who’s gonna kill you.”

Cas gave him an exasperated look. “You have a unique way of simplifying things, Dean.”

“Do you suppose…” Dean paused, wondering if he should ask. Might as well. “Do you suppose this came up because of the EMDR?”

“Perhaps. The reaper was called because Naomi was dead. Or everyone thought she was dead. Because Metatron had killed her.”

Dean nodded, the pieces falling into place. “And then you killed her, in your EMDR session.”

“Yes.”

“Uh…one of the websites Sam had open,” Dean gestured to the laptop, “listed side effects of EMDR. Nightmares. New traumatic memories.”

“Yes, being killed would count as a trauma,” Cas observed.

“Dork,” Dean said with a smile. He sobered at the next thought. “What I _meant_ was, uh…you know… The sex wasn’t really consensual. You didn’t know she was a reaper.”

“I have thought about that.” Cas’ tone was sad. “It wasn’t consensual for April either.”

“You feel bad for her?”

“Of course. I feel badly for anyone who didn’t have a choice.”

“You including you in that?” Dean asked, knowing he was pushing Cas a bit.

Something passed across Cas’ face, as if he was remembering something else. “I guess I wasn’t.” He turned abruptly to Dean. “You matter, Dean. You need to know that. You and Sam both, but… I need you to know.” He pressed his index finger to Dean’s forehead. “Here.” He moved his finger to Dean’s chest. “And here. You need to _know_.”

“And you matter too, Cas.”

“Yes. I’m now realizing that.”

“And what you want matters,” Dean added.

Cas shook his head. “There is still too much to do.”

“And we’ll deal with it. We’ll find Jack. We’ll…stop him somehow. It’s what we do. But we can have a little of what we want too, you know. Take it where we can get it. ‘Cause, man, I don’t know how long we’ve got. And I’ve…” Dean let out a long breath. “I’ve been thinkin’ about quitting. I’m getting older. Let some of the younger hunters have a turn. Thought about you, me, Sam…hanging out on a beach somewhere.”

Cas’ gaze immediately rose to meet his. “You imagine me? In your future? Your retirement?”

“Well, yeah. I can’t imagine _not _having you in my life. You’re… I mean, we’re…just…better together. You know? Unless…” Dean trailed off.

“Unless what?”

Dean looked away. He couldn’t bear to see Cas’ reaction. Dude was an angel, even if most of Heaven hated him. He never really belonged here. “Unless you don’t want to stay.”

Firm fingers gently touched his chin, then pulled until he faced Cas. “Dean. Look at me.”

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Dean forced himself to look at Cas. Cas looked sad. And determined. And something else.

“I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with you, as long as you’ll have me. And since we’re being honest with each other…” Cas dropped his hand and closed his eyes briefly, as if gathering courage. “When Chuck first did…whatever he did to me…I thought about the Empty. How it would be a relief. But you… Dean. You’re worth coming back to.”

“Cas—”

“I’m not finished. I didn’t think I mattered. For a long time. I didn’t think…” Cas paused, let out a long breath. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. It was wrong. I made mistakes but they’re not _me_. Not any more than your mistakes are _you_. Even so, I have two more mistakes to correct.”

“I’m not gonna like these, am I?”

“One you won’t. You might get angry. The other one you might. If I’ve been…reading things correctly. Or it might make you angry too. I’m less certain about that one.”

Dean squared his shoulders. “All right. Well, give me the one you know I won’t like.”

“I made a deal with the cosmic entity. To save Jack. It was going to take him, but it really wanted me. Because I woke it up.”

It felt like a lead weight dropped into Dean’s stomach. Of course, Cas made a selfless deal with the god of some other dimension. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to want to yell at Cas, tell him how stupid that was, and hadn’t he learned _anything_ from Dean—or Sam—about sacrificing yourself to save someone else? But he didn’t have it in him. He didn’t feel that anger that he wanted. He only felt resolve.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Dean said finally. “I don’t know how, but we will. I’m not leaving you to deal with that on your own.”

Cas seemed confused. “You’re not…angry?”

“I’m…disappointed. If I’d done what you did, what would you have told me?”

“That it was stupid. And you should have talked to me first.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well… Your words. So, what does this deal entail? We gotta worry about it right away?”

“I don’t think it’s imminent, no. It wants me to forget about it. To be happy. Finally. And then it will come for me.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s an eloquent way of putting it, yes.”

“You’re just going to, what, stay sad until we figure this out?”

“It seemed like a good plan.”

“Well, I don’t like it. You’re right about that. But, you know, we’ve beat worse. I _Dr. Phil_ed God’s sister into not ending the world. We’ve got a chance. What’s the other mistake?”

Now Cas clearly looked uncomfortable. How could this other mistake be even bigger than making a bone-headed deal with the cosmic entity?

“Cas… What aren’t you telling me?”

“I have squandered opportunities,” Cas said slowly. “Because I thought I didn’t matter. Because I thought what I wanted didn’t matter. And, now that I think about it, I suppose I thought what you might want didn’t matter either.”

“You’re not making sense.”

Cas looked down at his lap and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Little louder for the human here, Cas.”

“You,” Cas whispered. “I want you.”

Dean was confused. “You want…?” Then the fact that this came on the heels of Cas’ nightmare about the reaper made him catch his breath. _Oh_. “You want me like…?”

Cas didn’t give him a chance to finish the thought before he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Dean’s.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Dean’s lips were nothing like what Castiel expected them to be. They were better. Warm, soft, tender, yes. But also vulnerable and sweet and selfless and strong. They were inexplicably _Dean_, and even if this was all Castiel ever got to experience of Dean’s physicality, it would be enough.

He drew back, though not too far, searching Dean’s face for some reaction. Anger, possibly. Disgust, hopefully not, but… What he saw looked like awe and felt like wonder. And then Dean was in his space, mouth hungry against his, hands in his hair, and Castiel felt his grace sing with the connection, every touch sizzling with power and need. Nothing—_nothing_—had ever felt like this, felt so right and so perfect.

Too soon, Dean stopped kissing him and rested his forehead against Castiel’s. “Cas,” he said between quick breaths, his voice sounding full of emotion.

“Dean.”

“Are you sure…?”

Castiel moved so that he could stare into Dean’s eyes. “I’ve never been more sure.”

“I’m not much…” Dean shook his head.

“You are,” Castiel said, meaning every word. “You are to me.” He paused, willing to accept whatever Dean’s answer was. “What you want matters too. Do you want this?”

Dean’s face flushed a little and he looked down at the space between them. “Yes.”

“So do I.” Castiel raised his hand to trace the contours of Dean’s face. The laugh lines next to his eyes. The perfect cheekbones. Those lips that had entranced Castiel for years. Dean’s eyes shimmered with tears to which Dean would never admit, and Castiel gently caressed beneath Dean’s eyes with his thumbs, trying to say _I accept all of you_ in a gesture. He kissed Dean’s eyelids slowly, then returned to his mouth.

He felt Dean’s tongue touch his lips in a tentative movement and opened his mouth a bit, hoping Dean would try again. When he did, Castiel met Dean’s tongue with his own, and the intimacy of the touch, the warm, smooth glide, had his entire vessel moving back and forth slowly, like the slow beat of wings through an open sky.

Dean’s fingers found their way to Castiel’s shirt, where they paused. “Can we…? Can I take this off?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded and sought out Dean’s mouth again, his desire to taste as much of Dean as possible leaving him barely conscious of what he was kissing, as long as it was Dean. He felt Dean loosening and removing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it from his shoulders, then hands running up his arms, down across his chest. Reverent.

It was as if a silent song set the tone for their movements, a slow ballad that had just shifted from minor to major key. Castiel had heard the angels sing, and yet this song was so much more, gathering every emotion he’d ever felt, every hope, every dream, every experience both holy and profane, and channeling them into touch and breath.

Cupping Dean’s face in his hands, Castiel gazed at him. “I lived in Heaven. Connected to the Host at all times. And I was so alone, Dean. So alone. Until I met you.”

Dean’s chin trembled. “I’m broken, Cas.”

“No.” Castiel kissed him. “You’re perfect.” He kissed Dean’s jaw. “Not because you’ve always succeeded. But because you’ve seen it all.” He kissed the side of Dean’s face. “And still you love,” he whispered.

He felt arms embrace him tightly then, and he drew Dean closer to him. As if responding to some silent crescendo, they found their way off the bed and began moving together, discarding the rest of their clothes, constantly giving reassuring touches, mouths finding skin, a give-and-take of caresses and electric sparks of desire. And then Dean was before him, naked. Beautiful. His scars spoke of every battle he’d survived, and a few he didn’t, but came back from anyway.

Castiel wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he wanted to touch. He held out his hands. “May I?”

“God, yes, Cas.”

“God’s not here,” Castiel said. “Just me.”

Dean cracked a smile. “Just as well.” He stared hungrily at Castiel, his eyes taking in everything from what Castiel assumed was even messier hair than usual to the feet that Castiel sometimes questioned were even a part of his vessel. He moved even closer. “Touch me, Cas.”

Castiel pulled Dean into another embrace, gasping as they met from chest to thigh, the sensations sending a blaze of pleasure through him. He reached between them, his hands finding them both hard and hot, and the localized touch brought that crescendo back, silent voices of passion mixing in perfect harmonies, calling out for expression, for resolution, for the universe to witness the entire composition from creation to culmination. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t deny himself or Dean any longer, and he backed Dean up to the bed, then lay them down, side by side, before taking them both in hand and adding just a touch of his grace, sending subtle vibrations through them both.

Dean gasped, his eyes rolling back into his head as he breathed heavily, mouth open. Castiel kissed every part of Dean he could reach, his hand seeming to know what to do on its own, their own fluids enhancing the sensation, grace continuing to pulse, and Castiel felt those wingbeats again as he moved with Dean, until he felt himself speeding toward the edge of a cliff.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed. “Dean, I’m—”

“Come for me, Cas,” Dean said, his voice breaking.

And then those wings snapped open and he was over the edge, soaring, waves of pure bliss washing through him.

“Cas!” Dean called out, clutching Castiel’s arms with his hands. His body tightened and he groaned as he began to shake, and then Castiel felt an eruption of heat and energy from Dean as his euphoria overtook him.

Castiel withdrew his grace and his hand, bringing Dean toward him as they breathed together, every breath a vow, a declaration, a prayer.

* * *

As Dean came down from his high, the first thing he was able to comprehend was that that was by far the best orgasm he’d ever had. The second thing was the reality of what they’d done. Any other time, he might have freaked out—or lashed out—but here in Cas’ arms, with the way Cas was looking at him with total adoration, he sank into the feeling. It was…nice. And also chilly. He must have shivered, because Cas pulled him in even closer, sharing body heat. And wow, did Cas put out a lot of body heat.

“That was… Fuck,” he said, not knowing what else to say in the moment.

Cas snorted. “Still eloquent.”

“Shut up. I think my brain shorted out.”

“It was…okay?” Cas looked suddenly uncertain.

“Damn, Cas. That was way better than okay. That was… I don’t even have words.”

“Me too,” Cas said with a tiny smile.

Now fear chose to creep in. “Um…how’s this gonna change…” He motioned to the scant few inches between their faces. “You know…us?”

Cas was quiet for a few moments. “I don’t know. Do you want it to change?”

“Judging by some of the things Sam has said, I think he figured it out before we did. He’ll be fine. Other hunters, people in some of the places we go? It could be a problem. You know, being public or anything.”

“I will do whatever makes you comfortable, Dean.”

“I don’t know what that is yet. Except…” He couldn’t help his smile, or the valiant attempt his dick was making for an encore. “I’d like to do this again.”

“Now?” Cas’ confusion was adorable.

“Parts of me are voting for now. But no. I meant later. Not too much later, though.”

Cas nodded solemnly, then leaned forward, his mouth brushing against Dean’s ear. “I want to feel you _everywhere_, Dean.”

Sucking in a breath, Dean closed his eyes and shuddered. But before he could say that maybe he’d changed his mind and now was good too, his stomach gurgled. He felt Cas’ lips on his, brief but insistent, and then a sudden chill as Cas stood up.

“First,” Cas said, “we clean up and get dressed. Then we feed you.” He helped Dean to stand, then brushed a hand over Dean’s cheek, leaving Dean feeling instantly clean and dry.

“Handy,” Dean observed. “You gonna eat with me?”

“I’ll at least come with you.”

Dean cracked a smile. “Yeah, you did.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

After spending the rest of yesterday watching movies and trading tender kisses with Dean, Castiel felt the need for another EMDR session like an itch under his skin. He could tell there was more to process, something more he needed to glean from this, but had no idea what it might be.

He sat in the chair across from Sam, Dean at his side, and could feel himself nearly vibrating with some sort of excess energy, wanting to get into it.

“You okay, Cas?” Sam asked. “We can wait another day if you need to.”

“No!” Castiel let out a breath. “No. I want to do this. I’m ready.”

“Okay. How’s the distance today?”

“It’s…good.”

“Are you sure? You seem a little edgy to—”

“I’m _fine_, Sam. Please, just start.”

“Yeah, I can tell you’re _fine_.” Sam took far too long thinking about something, then met Castiel’s gaze. “Before we begin, take a nice, long, easy breath in through your nose. Hold for a few seconds. Then exhale slowly through your mouth, making it audible.”

Castiel followed the instructions, feeling the tension lessen as he sighed out loud on the exhale.

“Better,” Sam said. “Are we still working with the image of Naomi’s drill and the belief you want that you’re worthy?”

“I…”

“You can change it if you want. If that doesn’t fit anymore, based on what happened yesterday.”

“I think I need something new.”

“Okay.” Sam picked up his pad and pen. “What’s the new image?”

“It’s not her drill anymore. I don’t feel anything about that. But the chair. It still…”

“Bothers you?”

“Yes.”

“So, Naomi’s chair. What about the belief?”

“I think…” Castiel glanced at Dean, and the return look of support he received eased even more tension. “I think I’ve made a lot of progress on feeling worthy. And that what I want matters.”

“Good! What does the chair have you feel?”

“Weak. Powerless.”

“Makes sense. So maybe a new belief would be something like ‘I am strong’? Or ‘I am powerful’?”

“No delusions of being the new God, though, okay, Cas?” Dean said. “Been there, done that.”

“I have no desire to repeat that, I assure you.” Castiel considered what might be the opposite of how he felt in the chair. _You just take. You keep taking_. “Things were taken from me in that chair,” he said. “So… I don’t know… Maybe I take back what is mine?”

“Well, let’s see where that gets us.” Sam raised his hand. “Now, just notice.”

Even though he’d only had two prior sessions, Castiel was so used to the eye movements leading directly into a kind of altered reality with which he could interact, that it was disappointing to follow Sam’s hand back and forth and get…nothing. No sensations. No urges to move. No images or sounds or smells or thoughts. He was certain Sam took longer for this set, maybe to give Castiel a chance to come up with something, but if so, it was in vain. When he lowered his hand, Castiel let out a frustrated grunt.

“Slow, easy breath in,” Sam reminded him.

Castiel breathed, still feeling disappointed.

“What did you notice?”

“Nothing. I think I did it wrong.”

“Your eyes were following just fine,” Sam assured him. “It’s okay if nothing comes up. That happens, according to what I’ve read.”

“I want to fix this,” Castiel said. “I want to fix me.”

“I know, Cas. But you can’t force it to happen. You have to just let it happen.”

“I’ll try.”

“Do or do not,” Dean said in a high, nasally voice. “There is no try.”

Castiel looked at him for an explanation.

“Dude! _Star Wars_? Yoda?”

“Ignore him,” Sam said, raising his hand again. “Just notice.”

As Castiel followed Sam’s hand, he felt shackles tightening around his wrists. He started to struggle against them, wondering why Sam and Dean had betrayed him this way, then saw he was no longer in the bunker, but back in Naomi’s office. Alone. In Naomi’s chair.

_No! _He struggled harder, the shackles tightening to the point of pain, and he looked around for any sign of the drill.

“Naomi wasn’t the only one who took from you in this chair,” a taunting voice said from behind him.

Castiel tried to twist around, to see the speaker.

Calmly, Metatron walked around the chair to face him, casually twirling an angel blade. “Taking your grace was possibly one of the most delicious things I’ve done. And you gave it so freely.”

“I _never _would have given it to you to cast the angels out!” Castiel spat.

“But you would have handed it over to lock all the angels _in _Heaven.” Metatron trailed the point of the angel blade down Castiel’s cheek. “We had so much in common, you and I. We should have been on the same side.”

“_You _betrayed _me_,” Castiel said through clenched teeth. “I have _nothing _in common with you.”

“Oh, dear Castiel, that’s where you’re wrong. Neither one of us particularly liked being obedient. We both found ways to write our own stories. We’re free thinkers, Castiel, authors of our own destiny! What other angels could say that? Not Lucifer, blinded by rage and pain. Not Michael, blinded by a twisted sense of duty. Even Gabriel was too busy avoiding conflict to plan his own denouement.”

“I only agreed to help you because I was the one who broke Heaven,” Castiel argued. “And now I’m not even sure that’s true. What Naomi took from me… I might have made different choices if she hadn’t erased memories, tried to make me her puppet, do her bidding.”

“Or maybe you’re just the sad, weak angel, Castiel. The one who can never get it right, no matter how hard you try. The one from whom others will take because you have nothing else to contribute.”

“No.” A sense of power flowed through Castiel at that point. “I know that is not true. That’s another lie, Metatron. You’ve done nothing but lie to me from the start.”

“I didn’t lie to you about needing your grace.”

Castiel shook his head. “You said I was a warrior. I was the only one strong enough to do the trials, to close Heaven. Now you’re saying I’m weak. Which is it? Which one’s the lie? Or are they both lies?”

Metatron smiled but didn’t answer.

And then Sam lowered his hand.

Castiel let out a frustrated huff. “Keep going, Sam. I’ve almost got it.”

“No, Cas. That’s not the way this works. Nice, easy breath in through your nose. Hold…now out through your mouth.”

Castiel followed the instruction, but his mind was already on what Metatron was going to say. He _needed _to go back.

“Again,” Sam said. “There was nothing nice or easy about that.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel complied. And he did feel a little better, then. Maybe less inclined to storm back in. He breathed again, letting out a long hum on the exhale.

“What did you notice?” Sam asked.

“I was back in the chair, but this time it was Metatron. Taunting me. Trying to make me think we’re alike.”

“You’re nothing like him,” Dean said. “In case you needed a second opinion.”

“I need to go back, Sam. I need to know what he was going to say.”

“Cas, you realize that you’re not actually talking to Metatron in these sessions?”

“Yes, Sam. I’m well aware.”

“So, you don’t need to know what he was going to say. Because you _already _know. This is just a way for your mind to make it conscious.”

“Oh… I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He considered the set that he’d just finished. “I’m not trapped in there at all. It’s just how my mind is setting it up.”

“Exactly. It’s setting things up this way precisely so you can process what happened to you. Make sense of it. Put it into context with everything else you know.”

“Okay. That’s helpful.” He nodded once. “I’m ready then.”

Sam raised his hand. “Just notice.”

As Castiel followed Sam’s hand back and forth, a new scene emerged. He was again shackled to Naomi’s chair, Metatron next to him with an angel blade. This time Metatron held a vial, and Castiel knew it was for his grace, for the spell that would cast all the angels out.

“Shh, Castiel.”

“No,” Castiel said simply, before Metatron could continue. He glanced at the shackles and raised an eyebrow, then watched as they disintegrated. Pushing Metatron’s arm and the angel blade away, he stood, facing Metatron. “I’m not doing this again. No one is taking anything from me without my consent.”

“But something wonderful will happen, Castiel.”

“No. No good will come of this. The angels will fall, you will die, and I will be left feeling like this was all my fault. And it isn’t. You lied to me. You _took_ from me.”

“For the good of Heaven,” Metatron said.

“No, for the good of _you_. But one thing eludes me, Metatron. Why _my _grace? It wasn’t because I was strong enough. There were plenty of other angels just as strong or even stronger than me. It wasn’t because I was a warrior. Yet you singled me out. Why?”

“You were available. Nothing special about you. Not like when God picked me to write His Word.”

“I don’t believe you. And you _will _tell me the truth.”

Metatron smiled and twirled the angel blade in his hand. “Or what? I hold the angel blade here.”

“Yes, but you are in _my _consciousness. _I _control this world.” With a thought, Metatron was now shackled in Naomi’s chair. A small table sat next to it, accommodating a drill and several sharp implements, including the angel blade Metatron had been holding.

Castiel walked over to the table, picking up several of the ominous-looking tools and examining them before turning to Metatron. “Why…_my_…grace?”

Metatron finally sighed, defeated. “You know how grace has like a DNA?”

“A frequency unique to the angel. Yes. Go on.”

“The spell required grace that had something no other angel’s grace had.”

Castiel picked up the angel blade and pointed it at Metatron’s throat. “Don’t drag this out.”

“When you defied Heaven—_every _time you defied Heaven—it changed your grace. Subtly but surely. You _must _have noticed it. That it molded itself to your new reality, allowed you to feel more, experience more, _desire_ more.”

“I thought it was my grace weakening, no longer connected to the Host.”

Metatron shrugged as well as he could in the chair. “Yes, that too. But it altered your grace.”

“Defiance?”

“Still not the most subtle tool in the shed, are you? No, not defiance. Free will.”

“Free will changed my grace.”

“Bingo! We have a winner!”

“Why?” Castiel asked. “Why was that the necessary element?”

“Because you had a choice, and you _knew_ you had a choice.”

Chuck’s words came back to him then. _Free will, not blind obedience. You’re my angelic success story. You embraced it and ran with it._

Castiel set the angel blade back down on the table. “Free will is the key.”

“It’s the key to everything,” Metatron said. “It’s the only thing that keeps me from knowing how the story ends.”

“It’s why Chuck won’t interfere with Jack,” Castiel said, putting the pieces together. “It’s why he gave me back what Naomi took. So that I can make an informed choice. It’s why the cosmic entity kicked me out of the Empty. Because I chose to annoy it. I chose not to sleep. I _knew _there were other choices.”

“That’s what set you apart, Castiel. The other angels? They only knew duty or whatever their agenda du jour was.”

“They still do,” Castiel mused. “Even in the Empty. They don’t realize they have a choice.” He looked up at Metatron sharply. “I don’t have a soul. Not like humans do. But when you took my grace, you told me to live this new life to the fullest. And that when I died and my soul went to Heaven, to come find you, to tell you my story.”

“If you say so.”

“My memory is still excellent. Now I need to know, did you give me a soul before you sent me back to earth and wrecked my wings?”

“What do you think?”

“There was a bright light when you sent me back.”

“Let me ask you this, Castiel. Teleportation, even with a few lighting effects? Any angel can do that. But do you really think this nebbish could _create_ a soul?”

“You can do a lot of things,” Castiel said, thinking it through. “And you had the benefit of the angel tablet. But no…I don’t think you could create a soul. Which must mean…I already have a soul.”

“I did tell you that free will changed your grace.”

Castiel stared at Metatron with sudden understanding. “Free will changed some of my grace into a soul.”

“Go write your story, Castiel. I can tell it’s going to be a good one. And say hello to the flannel twins for me.”

“Wait—”

But Sam was already lowering his hand.

Castiel breathed without being prompted, feeling both energized and awed at this revelation.

“What did you notice?” Sam asked.

“I have a soul.”

Dean sat forward. “You what, now?”

“Free will changed some of my grace into a soul. It’s the only explanation.”

“Well, then why did you go to the Empty when Lucifer stabbed you?” Dean asked.

“It’s not a human soul. Not fully-formed, I imagine. As long as I have enough grace, I may be subject to the cosmic entity’s authority.”

“You’re telling me you’re a baby soul in a trench coat?” Dean said with a teasing grin.

“I’m telling you I can make you regret saying that, Dean.”

Sam laughed, then turned serious. “Wait, Cas… If you have a soul, and it’s grace that makes you subject to the cosmic entity, then if you don’t have enough grace, it can’t do anything to you. And if you do die more human than angel…”

“I’d go to Heaven. But not as an angel. As a soul, in my own private Heaven.”

“Well, there’s your out as far as the deal goes,” Dean said.

“And Jack?” Castiel asked. “How can this help Jack? Chuck said there’d be something in this that would help me help Jack.”

“He’s already got free will,” Sam said. “And he burned out his soul.”

“I don’t know…” Castiel said. “Maybe another round will get me there. Maybe Metatron will tell me more. Or my subconscious will tell me more.”

“Okay.” Sam raised his hand. “Just notice.”

Castiel expected to find himself back in Naomi’s office. Or in her chair. Or any of the places he’d come to expect with this process. An Egyptian palace was somewhere near the bottom of his list. He remembered this one. He even remembered his orders, because it was one of the first times he thought outright that it was _wrong_, that maybe those orders hadn’t come from God at all. But they did, and that made it even harder to question orders that came later. Ones that had Heaven’s stamp of authority, but never came from God.

The orders were simple enough. _Go to the pharaoh of Egypt when the Chosen Man and his brother seek audience with him, when they carry with them soot of the furnace. Be not seen, but stand just behind the pharaoh. And after they throw it heavenward, I shall make it a boil breaking forth upon man and beast. And you shall keep the pharaoh’s heart as he has held it. Do not let him stray from his path. For he has set his heart and will not listen, and now he will know Who I am_.

It seemed pretty straightforward. Keep the pharaoh from changing his mind. But as the court magicians broke out in painful, weeping blisters, and as innocent people and animals that had no part in any of this were crying out in pain, despite having refused to listen five times previously, the pharaoh had reached his breaking point. Without intervention, he _would _have changed his mind. And now Castiel was preventing it. Acting on orders from Heaven, Castiel was now the cause of so much needless suffering.

True, he was just following orders, carrying out his missions as best he could. But that was no excuse. Not when he knew he had a choice. That’s when it started, didn’t it? The thought that he had a choice. The doubts. The questions. If he was really doing the right thing, even if God commanded it.

Castiel thought back to his conversation with Avraham, prior to the destruction of Sodom. Avraham argued with God. And he won. He was willing to take a stand, even against God.

_It’s thrilling to see this play out_, Chuck had said, regarding Jack. _He’s where he is because of his choices._

_For he has set his heart and will not listen._

_Free will changed some of my grace into a soul_.

_You are who you choose to be,_ Kelly Kline had told Jack, in a video.

_We ripped up the ending and the rules…leaving nothing but freedom and choice_.

Castiel’s attention snapped back to the bunker, not caring what Sam was doing with his hand. He stood abruptly. “I know how to fix Jack.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Dean startled when Cas suddenly stood up and announced he knew how to fix Jack. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to fix Jack or kill him. Or seal him away somewhere until they made up their minds.

“Whoa, Cas, hold on,” Sam said, using the voice he saved for calming witnesses. “Sit down for a moment.”

Cas sat, but looked impatient. “I understand now. We need to find him.”

“That’s great, Cas. Really. And this is still your processing. Jack can wait a few more minutes.”

“Sam’s right,” Dean added. “Last thing we need is you going all _Jessica Jones_ on us.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“Because of the flashbacks.” Dean waited for understanding to cross Cas’ face, but it didn’t come. “Never mind. I just don’t want to have to pull you back out of your past in the middle of dealing with Jack.”

“Oh. I don’t think that will be a problem anymore.”

“Let’s do the breathing, first,” Sam suggested. “Nice, slow, easy breath in through your nose…hold for a few seconds…then out through your mouth.” Sam breathed with him, then nodded. “Good. What did you notice?”

“I know how to fix Jack,” Cas repeated.

“Yes, I get that,” Sam said. “But what did you _notice_?”

Cas gave a frustrated sigh that Dean could totally understand. Who wanted to finish therapy when action was waiting? “I remembered my orders to harden Pharaoh’s heart.”

“Wait, what?” Dean said. “_Pharaoh?_ As in Egypt?”

“Yes. Pharaoh Setnakhte. As I was saying, I had orders to prevent him from changing his mind to let the Israelites go. I questioned those orders. It was perhaps the first time I doubted their origin. But I understand now. He kept choosing to ignore the Israelites’ plight. He kept choosing power over compassion, so many times that he lost the ability to choose.” Cas leaned forward. “Jack isn’t there quite yet, but he’s on his way. I can stop him. Before he loses his ability to choose.”

“I thought that, without a soul, he wouldn’t be able to choose,” Sam said. “What I remember about not having mine was that I didn’t care about consequences. I wanted what I wanted. No one else mattered.”

“We still matter to Jack,” Cas insisted. “Or else he wouldn’t have run away. He’s afraid of your anger, for what he did to Mary.”

“And we are,” Dean said, grief flaring to life again. “Angry.”

“But that means he still knows it was wrong, what he did. That there _are_ consequences. And if free will altered my grace and formed a soul…”

“Jack can create a soul out of his grace too,” Sam finished.

“What we need to teach him is that he doesn’t have to make decisions alone,” Cas continued. “This is where I made my mistakes. I thought I needed to fix things myself. That involving you would put you in harm’s way. Or that it was yet another thing for you to handle, when you already had so much.”

“Cas…” Dean said, not sure where this was going.

“But I realize that was wrong. Free will isn’t just doing whatever we want to do. It’s making educated decisions. Responding, not reacting. When I didn’t involve you, I wasn’t making fully informed choices. Jack is still a child, even if his vessel—his body—is grown. It’s my responsibility as a parent, as his guardian, to teach him how to make informed choices. How to take many perspectives into consideration and only then make a choice.”

“Weren’t we doing that?” Sam asked.

“Not explicitly, no. We were teaching him right from wrong, but not how to weigh other perspectives and then make an informed choice. How to trust himself.”

“If this doesn’t work,” Dean said, feeling a constriction in his throat, “we have to stop him. Permanently. Whatever that takes.”

“I believe this will work, Dean. I believe this is what Chuck wanted me to see. The answer I had that would help us with Jack. And the reason why Chuck won’t interfere.”

“Okay. I’m not sure I’m one-hundred-percent on board, but…I trust you.”

“That means a lot to me, Dean. Especially after everything.”

“Yeah, well… Don’t make me regret it.”

“So, what do we need to do?” Sam asked. “How do we find Jack?”

Cas stood again. “We need Heaven’s help.”

* * *

In a surprising twist, and much to Dean’s relief, Cas didn’t head off to the playground portal on his own. He asked that they all three go. Adding to Dean’s relief—and making it easier to trust Cas—Cas also said he wasn’t leaving them at the playground while he did who knows what in Heaven.

Dean stood with Sam just beyond the sandbox, angel blade at the ready, willing to lend a hand if needed—because most angels are dicks, and Cas was on their hit list.

Cas approached the angel guarding the sandbox, a sad, apathetic guy who seemed far more interested in whatever he was drinking than two hunters and another angel. “Get Dumah for me,” Cas ordered. “Now.”

“Get her yourself.” The angel shrugged, barely looking at Cas. “I’m busy.”

Cas glanced at Dean, rolled his eyes, and turned back to the angel. He straightened his back, lifted his head, and got in the angel’s face. “You will listen when I’m talking to you, soldier,” he commanded, his voice nearly a growl. “Do _not _disrespect me again, or there will be consequences. Get. Dumah. For. Me. Now.”

The angel cowered under Cas’ glare, set his bottle down, and slunk off to the sandbox, where he entered the portal. Maybe thirty seconds later, he reappeared in a flash of light with Dumah.

“What is it, Castiel?” Dumah asked.

“I need you to locate Jack for me.”

“Jack? Lucifer’s love child?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I do not answer to you, Dumah.” Cas stepped forward until he towered over her. “I outrank you.”

Dumah laughed. “Not since you betrayed Heaven, you don’t.”

Cas raised a hand toward her. “Try me.”

“Oh, come on, Castiel. You’ve got a fraction of your grace, and everyone upstairs wants you dead. Go back to your playmates and leave Heaven to the real angels.”

Dean winced. He already hated Dumah.

“This is your last chance.”

Dumah scoffed. “I don’t need to locate him. I already know where he is. We’ve been keeping track of him, which is more than I can say for any of you.” She glanced at Dean and Sam. “I’ve no idea why he considers you his parents. You’re negligent at best.”

Cas nodded once. “As you wish.” He placed his hand on Dumah’s forehead, while simultaneously drawing his angel blade and pointing it at the angel guard. Light glowed from under his hand, and Dumah gasped, then struggled but seemed frozen under Cas’ touch. She screamed, a pain-filled shriek, and then Cas removed his hand and ran his angel blade through her abdomen.

Moments later, light streamed from her eyes and mouth, and Dean averted his eyes against the bright glare as he felt the blast wave surge past him. By the time he looked back, thinking it was safe, Cas was standing in front of him, every bit the terrifying angel he remembered from years ago.

“Let’s go,” Cas said.

Dean swallowed a few times, his throat dry. “Where are we going?”

“An abandoned factory warehouse. It’s not far. Head east.”

Three hours later, Dean was feeling a little impatient. “How much longer, Cas?”

“Approximately twenty-eight minutes.”

Dean figured that counted as _not far_, compared to driving to one of the coasts. He followed Cas’ directions until they arrived at an industrial area just outside the city, with signs informing them that the state correctional facility was nearby and not to pick up any hitchhikers. Questioning the irony of Jack hiding somewhere near a prison, Dean looked for a place to park Baby that he deemed even a little bit safe.

Cas exited the car, and with a glance toward Dean to make sure they were following, he strode toward one of the warehouses. With a wave of Cas’ hand, the door slammed open as he neared it, and Dean had a flashback of his own to a barn and a broken door and a shower of sparks. He shuddered, both awed and turned on.

“_Bolape ge erm hoxmarch_,” Cas called out as he made his way toward the back. “_Al tira!_”

Dean turned to Sam, hoping his brother would know what Cas just said.

“‘Fear not,’ in Enochian and Hebrew,” Sam said.

“Cas has gone full angel, huh?” Dean caught his brother’s shrug, and when he turned back to watch where he was going, he ran right into Cas.

“That will speak to the angel part of him,” Cas explained. “It will override his natural inclination to run, knowing we are here.”

“Good to know,” Dean said. “Will that work on you too?”

Cas leaned forward until his lips nearly touched Dean’s ear. “I’m not afraid, Dean. But a little fear in you is _very_ arousing.”

Dean felt his core muscles clench as another shudder moved through his body. “Holy fuck.”

“That can be arranged, yes. But first we talk to Jack.” And then Cas was off again as Dean scrambled to catch up, trying to understand what the hell had just happened.

They found Jack in a dimly lit corridor, sitting cross-legged, and looking defeated and forlorn, a far cry from what Dean knew he really was: possibly one of the most powerful beings in the universe, unafraid to kill.

“Jack,” Cas said, his tone now soothing.

“Castiel.” Jack glanced at Sam, then Dean, then fixed his gaze somewhere on the floor in front of him.

“We have good news,” Cas said. “I know how you can replenish your soul.”

“I thought you said my soul wasn’t gone.”

“I’m still not sure it’s completely gone. But I know you burned through most of it killing the alternate world Michael.”

“And I can…recreate one?”

“You can alter some of your grace into a soul. With choice. Free will.”

Jack shook his head emphatically. “No. I can’t be trusted with choice. I can’t… I’ve hurt too many people. I keep trying to do the right thing, and I keep hurting people. I don’t _want_ to hurt people,” he added, his eyes flashing gold.

“Breathe, Jack,” Cas instructed. “Now. In through your nose. Hold… Now out through your mouth.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, whose expression said _who knew?_

As Jack exhaled, Cas put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I have let you down, Jack. I should have taught you that you don’t need to do everything yourself. A truly powerful choice is one in which you weigh information and opinions of others, along with what you feel in your heart, and _then _you choose.” Cas glanced at Dean and gave him a sad smile. “I had to learn that one myself.”

“But I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do. You ask. It’s not a weakness to ask. Think of it as research. Reconnaissance. Information is vital to strategic planning. Acting without that is…well, it’s reckless and stupid.”

Dean nodded silently, wishing Cas had learned that about ten years ago.

“When you choose freely, when you _know _you have a choice and you use it, with others’ help, it changes your grace. You’ll redevelop a soul. I’m certain of it. And if you’re not sure, you can share your choices with us before you act on them. We can help you. We _want _to help you. We’re family.”

Jack looked at Dean, who could see tears forming in the boy’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t…couldn’t control it.”

“I know,” Dean said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed at you.”

“Dean,” Cas warned.

“I’m still pissed, and we’re still family. Family gets pissed at each other.” Dean couldn’t help but look at Cas. “We say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But, you know, we all had a part. Even Mom.”

Jack shook his head. “She wouldn’t stop—”

“No,” Dean interrupted. “Don’t go there. She had a part, yes, but now is not the time to put it all on her. I can’t take that.”

“Okay,” Jack said, subdued. “I wish I could make it better.”

“You can’t make it better,” Dean said. “She’s gone. You can’t bring her back again.”

“I know. I tried. I wanted to, so much.”

“But she’s happy now,” Sam said. “She’s at peace. We have to be okay with that.”

“I will work with you, Jack,” Cas offered. “Teaching you discernment on how to use your power and when. You have great power, and with help, you can wield it responsibly, without hurting anyone.”

Jack was silent for a moment, considering. “I think I would like that. But…”

“What?”

“It’s Lucifer.”

“Lucifer’s dead, buddy,” Dean said.

“No…” Jack shook his head again. “He’s in my head. He says he’s my conscience, but he doesn’t feel like me. He feels like…like Lucifer. I don’t want him in my head. He says hurtful things. He says I can’t trust you. He says you’ll kill me. He says I’ll never earn your forgiveness.”

“One thing about us, Jack,” Dean said, “is that what you see is what you get. If I don’t trust you, I’m gonna tell you I don’t trust you. And right now? I don’t trust you. But Lucifer—or whatever connection you’ve got to him—he twists everything.”

“Yeah, he was in my head too, for a while,” Sam added. “There’s a sliver of truth in what he says, so it _sounds_ true, but it’s not. Basically, if it comes from him, or what you associate with him, it can’t be trusted.”

“You can banish him,” Cas said. “You have that power. The power of choice.”

“He knows what I’m feeling,” Jack said. “That I feel bad. That I think I’d be better off dead.”

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Cas said. “Sometimes monumental ones.”

“You can say that again,” Dean spoke up.

Cas shot him a confused look. “Sometimes monumental ones.” He paused when Dean chuckled, then turned back to Jack. “You need to forgive yourself too. Hating yourself will lead you away from free will. Your choices will be blinded by self-hate. That’s not free will. That’s not choice.”

“Maybe if I forgive myself, Lucifer can’t hurt me with that anymore.”

“Exactly,” Sam said.

Jack looked to each of them, a hopeful expression on his face. “Are we still family?”

“You know,” Dean said, “family’s what has your back. Family’s what’s there for you when no one else is. And sometimes it’s not the family you thought you’d have, or the family you thought you wanted, but maybe it’s the family you need.”

Cas gave him that adoring look, and Dean rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the attention.

Jack stood up. “Can we go home now?”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

“You know we’re gonna need to keep an eye on him, more than before,” Dean said, after Jack retreated to his room in the bunker. He thought about the snake for a moment. “And no pets.”

“We can make a plan before going on any hunts,” Sam assured him. “One of us can stay behind or we can pass it off to other hunters. We’ll take the simpler cases first, work Jack up to the big stuff.”

“He’s already dealt with the ‘big stuff,’” Cas said. “I don’t think it’s a matter of how difficult the case is. It’s a matter of having the time to help him work through his choices.”

“You’re talking about having strategy sessions instead of going in, guns blazing,” Sam said, giving Dean a look he didn’t appreciate.

“Hey,” Dean argued, “going in guns blazing has saved our asses more than once.”

“I’m not saying it hasn’t,” Sam said. “Just…maybe for a while we pick cases where we can talk first and shoot later. I’ll tell Jody too, so she knows.” He pulled out his phone and sat down at the map table. “Think I’ll chat with Alex too, let both her and Jody know how well EMDR worked.”

“Sam…” Cas began, then stopped, looking uncertain.

“Yeah, Cas. What’s up?”

“Do you think… Should I do more EMDR sessions? How do I know when I’ve processed everything?”

“Well, if you have more flashbacks, that’d be one factor. If you feel like you need to, for whatever reason. If you don’t yet believe the things you want to believe. You know, the things we talked about in EMDR.”

“There’s no…minimum required?”

“Not that I’ve read, no. I mean, they say that usually the longer the trauma went on, the longer EMDR can take. Years even. But…”

“I’m not usual,” Cas finished.

“No.” Sam gave him a quick smile.

“Definitely not,” Dean added, taking Cas by the elbow. “And while Sammy makes his call, you and I need to have a different conversation.”

“I do _not_ want to hear you,” Sam said, wincing.

“No, an _actual _conversation,” Dean said. “With our mouths.”

“Don’t need that visual either, Dean.”

“You know what? I’m—” Dean shook his head. “Let’s go, Cas.”

“How, exactly, would you like me to use my mouth to communicate with you, Dean?” Cas asked.

“_Ugh!_” Sam grimaced. “Just go already.”

Dean snickered as they made their way down the hall to the bedrooms. “Well played, Cas. Well played.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

Dean waited to answer until they were in his room. He closed the door and leaned against it, really not wanting to have this conversation, but knowing that there was no way around it. “You think depleting your grace will work? Keep you away from the cosmic entity?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of. As far as an afterlife, it’s the primary difference between angels and humans.”

“You don’t think it could claim your soul? Take you anyway, because of the deal?” Dean sat down on the side of his bed and patted the space next to him, inviting Cas to join him.

“It could try, certainly,” Cas said, moving to sit next to Dean. “But it has no jurisdiction over souls.”

“You know, Billie threatened to send me and Sam to the Empty,” Dean said.

“An empty threat.” Cas made a face. “No pun intended. Reapers don’t get to decide where souls go. Even Death doesn’t get to decide.”

“Yeah. Anubis. I remember that from when Lily was here.” Dean thought about that. “Souls who weigh on the good side go to Heaven. The bad side go to Hell. Monsters go to Purgatory. Demons and angels to the Empty. Nice and neat and tidy.”

“Except…” Cas began.

Dean nodded, understanding. “Except we’re not nice and neat and tidy. Jack’s half-angel and we’re gonna help him grow his soul back. I’ve been a demon _and _a meatsuit for an archangel. Sam…did his whole thing with the demon blood and Lucifer. You’re an angel with a soul.” Dean snorted. “And all of us have died more than once.”

“You and Sam are guaranteed Heaven,” Cas said. “I’m certain. Your role in averting any number of apocalypses ensures that. Jack… If Jack grows his soul, he might avoid the Empty. Who knows, he might be more powerful than the cosmic entity. If he could wake me up…”

“He might never go to sleep,” Dean finished the thought. “He could probably annoy the cosmic entity almost as well as you did. Search every crevice of the Empty for nougat. Wake all the angels in the process.”

“We could wait,” Cas suggested. “The entity did say it wanted me to forget about it before it came for me. If I never forget, maybe I won’t have fulfilled the terms.”

“I’m not takin’ that chance, Cas. You deserve to be happy. You don’t need that threat hanging over your head forever. And I really hope you know by now that we don’t want you around just ‘cause of your grace.”

Cas nodded. “I know. I don’t always understand that, but I do know.”

“You were raised to be a hammer, right? A dutiful soldier? So, it makes sense that you’d think that’s what makes you worthy. And yeah, at first, that was what I thought. That you’d be a great asset to have on our side. But you gotta know, man, that’s not what I think anymore.” Dean raised his hand to Cas’ cheek, his thumb stroking gently. “Whatever we need to do, to keep you safe.” He smiled, then lowered his hand.

“I feel the same way, Dean. And that’s what concerns me. Keeping you safe. If I deplete even some of my grace, I may not be able to heal you anymore. And then there’s the question of what to do with it. Neither planting a tree nor hiding it in a library seem appealing.”

“Jack’s got healing abilities,” Dean said. “And…” he shrugged. “You know… If we maybe take this slowing down thing with Jack as an ease into retirement… Less chance of getting dead, right?”

“You have talked about using the bunker as a training and respite center for hunters.”

“Yeah. Sam can teach research. I can teach fighting skills. You can teach ‘em anything they ever need to know about angels, demons, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, even the Empty.” Even thinking about it made Dean feel lighter, more excited than he’d been in a long time, rather than facing down an endless stream of evil until his own untimely death.

“I can live with that,” Cas said. “But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t want to give up _all _my grace. Being human was…difficult.”

“Yeah, well this time, you’re not gonna be on your own.”

“Still. I think I would feel better if I kept a small amount. Enough to remind me of who and what I am.”

“Okay. So, how much can you keep and still avoid the entity?”

Cas seemed to consider that for a long time. “I think… I think I will know when I get to the right amount. I can’t explain any better. Will you trust me?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, not even needing to think about it. “And you know why?”

Cas cocked his head in that adorable way he had.

“’Cause we’re talking about it. Considering all the angles. Making a decision together.”

Gracing him with a smile that looked like the sun emerging from the clouds, Cas said, “In that case, I feel even better about this.”

“I’d kinda like to kiss you now,” Dean said.

“I would like you to.”

Dean leaned forward and met Cas’ lips with his own. There was an immediate spark, a tingle in his lips, as if Cas was covered in static electricity. He pulled away just enough to ask, “You doing anything with your grace right now?”

“No. Stop talking and go back to kissing me.”

Dean chuckled. “Kinda bossy, aren’t we?”

“You have no idea,” Cas growled, taking Dean’s face in his hands and initiating his own fierce kiss.

And if that didn’t just send a thrill throughout his body… Dean raised his hands to entwine his fingers in Cas’ hair, scooting closer to him, wanting nothing more than to _show _Cas how he felt, and to let Cas show him too. Because there was nothing to be afraid of now. Cas wasn’t leaving. Wasn’t rejecting him. Didn’t think he was broken.

For some reason, Cas _wanted_ him, could take care of him, could give and take, love and fight in all the best ways. All the ways Dean needed him. As Dean let that sink in, it became very clear that they were wearing far too much clothing. He wanted to be as close as possible to Cas. It was like an ache, this _need_ to touch and be touched, to give and receive.

He licked at Cas’ lips, felt them part almost immediately, and pressed his tongue further, finding Cas’ own, warm and strong, and humming with that electricity. Dean wasn’t sure if that was part of Cas’ grace, if Cas might lose it when he depleted his grace. If he was honest, _Dean_ didn’t really want to lose it, because whether it was healthy or not, knowing that a being as old and powerful as Cas thought so highly of him, believed he was worthy…that meant more than just another human’s opinion.

Moving his hands lower, Dean traced where Cas’ hair curled behind his ears, over the thick lapels of his trench coat. Then under them and over his broad shoulders, easing the coats off of him. Cas didn’t seem to want to let go of Dean’s face, or didn’t immediately understand what Dean was trying to do, but with a little tugging, he got on board and shrugged out of both coats, letting them fall behind him on the bed.

Cas mirrored Dean’s actions, removing his jacket and overshirt, then going further to pull Dean’s t-shirt up over his head.

Licking his lips, Dean lowered his hands to Cas’ tie, untying it and slipping it from around Cas’ neck. Then he went to work on Cas’ shirt buttons, feeling the thrum of need flowing through his body. He darted in for another kiss as Cas ran his hands down Dean’s chest, fingertips grazing his nipples, tracing over ribs, then around Dean’s back as Cas crushed him in a tight hug.

“Cas,” Dean mumbled, millimeters away from Cas’ lips. “Can’t move my hands.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Cas retreated a couple of inches, then began unbuttoning his own shirt from the bottom, their hands meeting in the middle.

Dean slid the shirt off of him, doing his own exploration of tanned skin. He mouthed at Cas’ neck, the perpetual stubble rough but reassuring under his lips. He found Cas’ belt and began working it open, feeling Cas fumbling to do the same, but it was getting awkward with them both sitting, and Dean was finding it increasingly and uncomfortably tight. He pulled Cas with him to a standing position, then went right back to what he was doing, letting Cas’ pants and belt drop to the floor with a soft clatter.

Moments later, he felt a sudden chill and looked down to see that Cas had managed to leave both his jeans and his boxers in a pool around his boots. “Not fair,” he said. He bent down to untie his boots, then stepped out of them and kicked his own clothing to the side. Before he could pull Cas’ boxers down, Cas was in his space again, kissing hard, their chests touching, fabric rubbing unpleasantly against Dean’s dick.

Dean reached around Cas’ waist and dipped his hands underneath his waistband, then shoved the offending garment down. He grabbed Cas’ ass and pulled it toward him, feeling a hard line of heat against his own. That was more like it, and he gasped as the sensations intensified.

“I want you,” Dean whispered.

“As do I, Dean. I want to feel you everywhere.”

“You…you want me to—?”

“Defile me? Ravish me?” Cas put his lips against Dean’s ear and growled, “Fuck me? Yes.”

Dean’s brain blew a few circuits. Those words coming from an angel’s mouth? He nodded and tried to swallow. “For what it’s worth… I, uh… want you to…you know…as well.”

He felt Cas shudder against him, then a breathy, “Dean,” in his ear.

“C’mon,” Dean pulled at Cas again, this time toward the bed.

Cas tried to take a step forward but forgot that he still had clothing around his ankles and shoes on his feet. He pried them off with his heels, alternating feet, then fell with Dean onto the bed.

“You mean everything to me,” Dean said, showering Cas in kisses. “Gonna take good care of you, make you feel so good.”

“Dean,” Cas groaned, looking like he was going to come any moment.

“Hang on, Cas.” Dean reached for his nightstand drawer and grabbed the lube. “Don’t want this to hurt you.”

“Dean, you can’t hurt me,” Cas said, watching Dean’s hands with undisguised interest. “My grace will—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes going wide.

“What? Cas? You having another flashback?” _Please no, please don’t have a flashback now._

“No, not a flashback,” Cas said.

“You worried about not having your grace later? ‘Cause I can guarantee, whatever prep you might need can feel pretty good too.”

“No, it’s… I don’t know if you’d want to…”

“Want to what? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I am sorry to break the mood. And I’ll help us get back there. I promise.” Cas took one of those breaths like he did in EMDR. “I thought of what to do with my grace.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Dean was at a loss for words. Finally, he managed to say, “Now? _Now’s_ when you think of that? Not gonna lie, Cas, this is not doing a whole lot for my sexual self-esteem here.”

“It’s not that. It’s you, Dean. I could store some of my grace in you.”

“What?”

“If you don’t want to, I completely understand. I will find something else to do with it.”

“No, I’m not saying no. I just need to know more. And kind of quickly, before my dick falls off.”

“I can transfer some of my grace—enough to evade the cosmic entity—to you. It’s already attracted to the tiny piece of my grace you’ve had since I raised you from Hell. You’re strong enough; you had Michael locked up. And I can put it where it won’t make you part angel. You won’t wind up in the entity’s sights either.”

“And how do we do that? It’s not like being possessed?”

“Nothing like that. It’s a bond, not a takeover. I need to bond my grace with your soul, and then infuse you with the grace. No one else can get at it. It can’t be extracted by anyone but me, because of that bond.”

“Okay.” Dean shrugged.

“But even if I were to retrieve my grace, it’s…eternal, Dean. The bond. It can’t be undone.”

Dean nodded and took a long breath. “Okay. Well, you’re not a casual hook-up, Cas. We’ve been through just about everything this universe—and a few others—can throw at us, and while you piss me off sometimes, I can’t imagine my life without you. You’re it for me. So, yeah. Forever? Sign me up.”

“There’s one other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t do it with a touch to the surface of your skin. Not while you’re embodied. I need to have a part of _me_ inside of your body. Like reaching in to touch your soul.”

It took Dean a moment to process that. “Oh. So…really painful sex?” He was already down to half-mast, and this conversation was not helping.

“If I reached in to touch your soul, yes it would be excruciating. But if I initiate the bond during climax, I think it would be the opposite.”

“You _think_.”

“It’s not like I’ve done this before.”

Words were getting harder and harder to speak. “So, you want to…”

Cas nodded. “I want to penetrate you this time, and I will send the tiniest, most harmless wisp of my true form out with my semen when I ejaculate, and that will initiate the bond and I can transfer my grace.”

“Okay, that is quite possibly the most _un_appealing way to describe sex in the history of sex.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “You asked.”

And damn, if that didn’t get things going again. “Okay. Yeah. Do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just…do it before I chicken out.”

“I won’t hurt you, Dean.”

“I know. Use plenty of lube, okay? It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Cas leaned forward and kissed him tenderly, and Dean felt that electric tingle start up again in his lips. But this time it fanned out, spreading through his body, reigniting all the right spots, washing away any anxiety. “Let me take care of you, Dean.”

Dean could only nod, feeling Cas’ hands caress his body, leaving those electric trails everywhere. He’d read something like this as hyperbole in a porn story, but the real thing? _So _much better. And then Cas’ hand ghosted over his very interested dick, did something amazing to his balls, and trailed lower. Dean spread his legs apart, wanting more of whatever Cas was doing. A finger trailed over his crack, then touched his hole, immediately loosening and softening everything. A cool tingle accompanied the touch, and somehow Dean knew Cas had just zapped him clean.

He could feel Cas pushing into him then, a finger probably, but there was no pain. It was like the best vibrator imaginable, and Dean felt himself relaxing around the intrusion, taking it in farther, seeking more.

Nerves fired within him, radiating pleasure as if they were incapable of registering anything else, and before he knew it, Cas was lining himself up, pulling Dean closer as if he weighed nothing. Dean felt a sudden panic—he had no awareness of Cas using any lube—but whatever Cas was doing to him felt so incredibly good, and he knew Cas would never intentionally hurt him. He relaxed and lost himself in the moment, knowing he could only ever do this with Cas.

There was a pressure that seemed to fill him on a spiritual level as much as a physical one, and then Cas hit his prostate and it was as if an entire fucking symphony orchestra began playing in his head. He lost a sense of his body then, wrapped in waves of pleasure and bliss, not entirely sure where he ended and Cas began, and he wanted it to last forever.

But, of course, pleasure never lasts forever, and Dean could feel the buildup to his own climax begin, even without being touched. He tried to stave it off, but the pleasure kept building, layers upon layers of adoration and love, as if it was lifting him to new heights. He even had the sensation of flying, gliding on some thermal, circling around his eventual target before diving into the center.

He heard Cas make a sound, something between a grunt and a moan, and that pleasure within him lit up even more, almost to the point of pain, and then there was something new, a feather-light touch within him, respectful and modest, but also determined, seeking.

The new something reached his solar plexus and Dean felt like a missing piece had been reunited, as if some part of himself that he’d lost long ago had now been returned. Which made no sense, until the thought made it through Dean’s pleasure-soaked brain that maybe he was feeling the piece of Cas’ grace that had been left behind, now reunited with Cas himself. Was that even possible?

There was no time to answer, as his entire body reacted, arching up off the bed as his own climax exploded within him, sending sparks showering down in his brain. The next thing Dean was aware of was Cas pulling out and Dean’s own oversensitive nerves giving a last valiant pulse of pain/pleasure before he felt cool and empty.

And yet not empty.

Cas collapsed next to him, kissing his shoulder and touching the cooling spunk on his stomach with an index finger. As Cas drew unidentifiable images in the wetness, he asked, “Are you okay?”

Dean had to think about that, still trying to figure out what the not-empty feeling was. He tracked it down to the sparks showering down in his head. They’d seemed like actual sparks, not metaphorical ones. And there was something new and tiny in the center of his head. He focused his attention on it, tried to feel it out.

_Stop poking it, Dean_.

The words were clearly Cas’, but came from inside his head. From the new…thing. “What did you do to me, Cas?”

“It’s the bond,” Cas answered out loud. “I essentially awakened your pineal gland. It now stores my dormant grace.”

"My pie gland?"

"Pineal, Dean."

“Why can I hear you in my head?”

_This is how angels communicate when we’re not envesseled. You should be able to talk to me this way too. Just like praying to me._

_I just…think in your direction?_

_Exactly. You can focus on that spot and speak with your thoughts._

Dean felt a sense of happiness and…pride?...that definitely wasn’t his. “Dude, am I feeling your emotions too?”

The happiness and pride suddenly shifted to surprise. _I wasn’t expecting that. Angels do this, but I haven’t made you an angel._

“Can you feel my emotions too?” Dean asked. “‘Cause I’m not sure I’m all that happy about you having that much access in my head.”

“Dean,” Cas said, his tone serious. “I have had _access_ for a decade, and per your request, I have not used it except when your life was in danger. I will maintain the same boundaries with this as well.”

“What if…” Dean started. He sought out the rice-thing again. _What if I initiate it?_

“Let me ask you this now,” Cas said, staring into Dean as if seeing his soul. And maybe he really was. “If you initiate conversation that way, knowing that your emotions—especially strong ones—may bleed over into me, shall I take that as explicit consent to respond in kind?”

_Uh… Yeah, I guess._

“I need your spoken consent, Dean. Explicit consent. Not an ‘I guess,’” Cas said, using finger quotes, one of his fingers still wet.

“If I initiate it, then yes, Cas, you can take that as consent to respond in kind. And I guess—I mean, you _can_—talk to me that way. Just don’t go, you know, looking for anything. Trying to figure out what I’m thinking or feeling without me sharing it with you.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

“And now, I need to clean up, because this—” Dean indicated the rapidly cooling mess on his stomach, “is gross. Unless you can do your mojo thing?”

Cas shook his head sadly. “The bond is about all I can do now. I am now the equivalent of a human psychic, with my abilities mostly limited to you. I kept enough grace to have that with you, because that was important to me. I may not be able to heal you, but with the bond, I will have a better idea if you’re hurt or in danger.”

Dean rolled to the other side and opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a package of wet wipes. “I don’t know how that’s any better, knowing if I’m in danger and not being able to do anything about it.” He pulled out a wipe and began to clean them up.

“It may be somewhat masochistic on my part,” Cas agreed, “but I’d rather know than not know. And if you’re serious about retirement from hunting, about teaching instead, it will put me even more at ease.”

Dean lifted the covers and snuggled under them, watching Cas follow suit. “Aw, you worry ‘bout me, Cas?”

_Elasa gen ge om irgil darilapa en boaluahe i lap elasa._

The words came quickly through their bond, and despite not knowing Enochian, Dean somehow knew exactly what Cas had said. _You do not know how great my worship is for you._ He felt himself shy away from the praise, feeling as if he didn’t deserve any of it.

Cas traced his fingers over Dean’s face. _You cannot run from the truth._

Dean could really feel it then, a sense of complete adoration, no matter how many times he fucked up, no matter how he’d hurt Cas, purposefully or not. Cas would love him unconditionally.

_I do too, you know,_ Dean sent through their bond. He hesitated at the words, but with this new way of communicating, no one could overhear. No one would make fun of him. Sam never had to know. He could do this. He took an easy breath, held it for a moment, then let it out. _I love you_.

Cas snuggled closer then, his nearly human body warm against Dean’s chest, and that…whatever it was, whether Cas’ grace or some part of his essence, snuggled up in the pie-thing in his head, radiating love and happiness. And peace.

“So,” Dean asked aloud, “are we, like, angel-married now?”

“Hm?” Cas didn’t open his eyes, as if he was drifting off to sleep.

“Because of the bond? Is that like being angel-married?”

“Oh.” Cas sighed. “I suppose.”

Dean sat up. “Wait, what?”

“What?” Cas opened his eyes this time, frowning.

“You just said we’re angel-married now. What am I gonna tell Sam?”

“Angels don’t get married, Dean.”

“But you just said—”

“I _said_,” Cas said, scowling, “that I suppose it would be like that. _If_ angels got married. Which we don’t.”

“That’s not what you said, Cas.”

Cas closed his eyes again and snuggled deeper under the covers. “Angel marriage doesn’t exist. It’s not a thing. You can’t make it a thing.”

“You just made it a thing by saying you supposed we were,” Dean argued, sliding back under the covers.

_If it was a thing, which it is not_, Cas said through the bond, _what would you want to tell Sam?_

_I’d want to tell him to mind his own business_, Dean thought back.

_Then that’s what we tell him._

Cas’ breathing evened out, and Dean was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep. And what was the protocol with using the bond during sleep? Was Cas’ essence awake in there, able to use the bond while his body rested? Could Dean push certain emotions through intentionally? Could they provoke _physical _feelings in each other through their bond?

Smiling, Dean closed his eyes. Things to test and explore later. Because they had time. Because he was going to retire from hunting, train up a new generation, and have a future with Cas.

_You know, it wouldn’t be so bad,_ Dean sent tentatively through the bond. _Being angel-married. If that was a thing._

The response, despite Cas seeming to be asleep, was instant. _It’s not._

_Well, just so you know, if it was, and you asked, I’d say yes._

Surprise bloomed through the pie-thing in Dean’s head. _You would?_

_Yeah. I mean, I kinda already did, right?_

_Oh. _There was a pause and Dean could feel amusement trickling through. _Dean, would you angel-marry me?_

Dean snorted. _Yes._

_Then it is now a thing, and we are._

_Awesome._

_And Dean?_

_Yeah?_

_The answer to your other questions is yes._

Dean immediately felt the unmistakable sensation of Cas’ hand around his cock, slowly stroking him, even though Cas’ physical hands were tucked up under his chin. The ghost hand then circled his hole while still stroking, and then somehow managed to add stroking his prostate from inside him simultaneously.

“Cas!” he cried out, another orgasm announcing its impending arrival.

Dean sensed Cas’ raised brow more than saw it within their bond, along with a low chuckle.

_You asked._


	19. Chapter Nineteen (Notes, Trivia, and References)

NOTES, TRIVIA, AND REFERENCES (in order of appearance)

Chapter One

  1. This fic takes place immediately after the events of 14x18 (Absence) and diverges from there
  2. There are actually 29 distinct churches listed in Manhattan, KS as of this writing
  3. I am actually surprised at how many Christian clergy teach that angels are only metaphors in the Christian Bible and either do not exist or do not interact with humanity. More than one has called humanity’s fascination with angels “New Age” and that if it didn’t come from Jesus, it can’t be trusted
  4. There is one synagogue in Manhattan, KS. There is actually no rabbi there; it’s completely lay-led. I took artistic license and made one up. Although the rabbi is fictional, what he says is a key belief that runs throughout Judaism
  5. Imagine my surprise when my research revealed that the Qur’an was passed on to Muhammad (alayhi as-salam) by Gabriel. Islam teaches that angels have no free will, and therefore the Qur’an is the word of God, since angels cannot make changes
  6. I really wanted to bring Gabriel back in this fic, but it wasn’t to be. Perhaps in a time-stamp, if I’m ever inclined to write one
  7. The professor in this fic is based on the professor that teaches Philosophy 615 at KSU Manhattan. Philo 615 is described as: “concepts of religion, including truth and faith, God and atheism, reason and revelation, morality and religion, evil, humanity, sin, salvation, eschatology.”

Chapter Two

  1. Regarding the Ma’lak box, _malakh_ means _angel_ in Hebrew. In Arabic, it’s _malak_
  2. _Korban_ is the Hebrew word for _sacrifice_
  3. _Abba_ (not the band) means _father_ in Hebrew
  4. _Shtok_ means _be quiet_ as a command
  5. There is, in fact, a pullout on US 24, just past Highway 81, heading westbound. If you totally want to geek out over this, you can view it at <https://goo.gl/maps/CR3zD472seoJANAaA>

Chapter Three

  1. I chose Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused” in part to reflect Cas’ state of mind, but also as a nod toward Dean’s inner world, specifically with the lyrics, “Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true / Wanted a woman, never bargained for you” and “Try to love you baby, but you push me away / Don't know where you're goin' / Only know just where you've been / Sweet little baby, I want you again”

Chapter Four

  1. Jewish tradition teaches that the three “men” who appear to Abraham at his tent were Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael. But I thought it worked especially well here as Gabriel, Raphael, and Castiel
  2. Gabriel’s comment, “I will return when the season comes…” is close to a literal translation of the original Hebrew. It’s one of the only times he speaks consistently with the context of the time. I thought that, being the Gabriel we know and love, he would be more likely to use modern slang when no other humans were listening. And since Heaven exists outside of Earth’s time, he’d have access to that linguistical knowledge even 4,000 years ago. All of everything existing in the Now and all that quantum stuff
  3. In every Jewish teaching, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah had nothing to do with sexual depravity and everything to do with the sin of ignoring those in need while idolizing those with money and power
  4. Gabriel speaking Pig Latin is one of my favorite parts of this fic
  5. Fun fact: the last we see of the three “men” in Genesis 18 is them leaving for Sodom and Gomorrah. But at the very beginning of Genesis 19, there are only two angels who arrive

Chapter Five

  1. Google returns no helpful information on the search for “angels with PTSD”
  2. There are actually quite a few EMDR therapists in Sioux Falls SD, although I could not, as of this writing, determine if EMDR is used within the police department
  3. Everything Alex says about EMDR is true and taken from my own EMDR experience

Chapter Six

  1. _Hevel _is the Hebrew transliteration for the English _Abel_
  2. The Hebrew Bible, in Genesis 4, has God speaking directly to Cain, essentially telling him to try harder, and his offering is more likely to be accepted. According to Jewish tradition the story of Cain and Abel is, among other things, a teaching about doing one’s best, rather than what’s easiest, fastest, or most efficient

Chapter Seven

  1. Sam’s post-run shake is based on my partner’s
  2. The pre-EMDR process that Sam goes through with Cas is an essential part of EMDR, and can, in reality, take several weeks
  3. The breathing technique Sam teaches Cas is also essential to all trauma therapy, and does, in fact, reset the human nervous system. It can also be used for anxiety and panic attacks

Chapter Eight

  1. The general store and dollar store in Smith Center actually exist next to each other, along with a gas station
  2. Doug Clifford was the drummer for Credence Clearwater Revival
  3. Cas’ Bee Kind journal can be found here: <https://www.amazon.com/Bee-Kind-Beekeeper-Beekeepers-Beekeeping/dp/1077930461/>

Chapter Nine

  1. All of the EMDR explanations and actions here are taken directly from my own experience
  2. Cas’ experiences during EMDR, while unique to him and his character, are based loosely on how I experienced EMDR, especially with the combination of visuals, sensations, and thoughts
  3. The languages used here for _angel_ are, in order: Hebrew, Ukrainian, Greek, Korean, Zulu, Japanese, Uzbek, Hindi, Armenian, Haitian Creole, Latin
  4. The term “Salmon Dean” came from a J2 panel at JIBcon 2016, and can be seen here (queued to start right before Jared starts talking about Salmon Dean): <https://youtu.be/_UpmBf1hUXk?t=375>
  5. Dean’s comment, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it—” is from a _Saturday Night Live_ sketch with Al Franken as Stuart Smalley, as seen here: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bd3g0K9KlBI>

Chapter Ten

  1. _Zea mays everta_ is the only variety of corn that can be used as popcorn

Chapter Eleven

  1. The “white glove inspection of your weapon, soldier” is a reference to a military inspection for cleanliness. It can also be observed in the changing of the guard at Arlington National Cemetery

Chapter Twelve

  1. _Plishti_ is Hebrew for Philistine
  2. _Galyat _is Hebrew for Goliath
  3. In 4x16 (On the Head of a Pin), Alastair is chained to a metal _magen David _(Star of David) within what is described as an old Enochian devil’s trap
  4. “I am alive and whole and free” is a saying one of my revered teachers taught me

Chapter Thirteen

  1. Although the website for EMDR side effects in the fic is fictional, as is the phrasing, these are indeed noted side effects of EMDR
  2. The things Cas says during his nightmare come directly from the transcript for 9x03 (I’m No Angel)

Chapter Fourteen

  1. I wrote the beginning of this chapter while listening to several different versions of Leonard Cohen’s _Hallelujah_ (though Pentatonix’s version is my favorite)
  2. There are numerous versions, some with verses that are not in the performed songs, but I tracked down the versions written by Leonard Cohen
  3. The descriptions throughout the scene are based on the lyrics as follows 
    1. “a slow ballad that had just shifted from minor to major key” is from “the minor fall and the major lift”
    2. “every experience both holy and profane” is from “The holy or the broken hallelujah”
    3. “And I was so alone, Dean. So alone. Until I met you” is from “I used to live alone before I knew you”
    4. “But because you’ve seen it all.” He kissed the side of Dean’s face. “And still you love,” is from “Love is not a victory march / It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah”
    5. “Castiel wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he wanted to touch” is from “I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch”
    6. “the sensations sending a blaze of pleasure through him” is from “There's a blaze of light in every word”
    7. “Castiel felt those wingbeats again as he moved with Dean” is from “And remember when I moved in you? / The holy dark was moving too”
    8. “from Dean as his own euphoria overtook him” is from “Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you”
    9. “as they breathed together, every breath a vow, a declaration, a prayer.” is from “And every breath we drew was Hallelujah”
  4. Sam’s look, talking about waking up angels in the Empty and them being sent back to Earth, could be a nod to Sabriel. If you want to think of it that way

Chapter Fifteen

  1. The instructions from God to Castiel, regarding the pharaoh of Egypt, are fictional, though the “soot of the furnace” is indeed mentioned in the biblical text
  2. It’s long been a point of Jewish study that the first many times that Moses pleads for Pharaoh to let the Israelites go, Pharaoh hardens his own heart. But as the biblical text proceeds, it changes to God hardening Pharaoh’s heart. One argument is that, once committed to a course of action, it gets more and more difficult to change, until eventually one is no longer capable of the choice

Chapter Sixteen

  1. Some biblical scholars have determined that the pharaoh who argued with Moses was Pharaoh Setnakhte. Others disagree. I chose this one
  2. The location of the abandoned factory warehouse where Jack was hiding is not specified in canon. I took more artistic license and made it three and a half hours away, or roughly the distance between Lebanon, KS and Topeka, KS

Chapter Seventeen

  1. Apologies for those who were looking forward to bottom!Cas

Chapter Eighteen

  1. The pineal gland is sometimes called the third eye
  2. It is also the location of the third chakra
  3. The Greek physician Herophilus (325-255 BCE) thought that the pineal gland was the seat of the soul
  4. It has long been linked to psychic abilities and telepathy

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, you may enjoy my other Destiel and pre-Destiel fics here on AO3:
> 
> **Long Fics (>30,000 words)**   
[You're Safe With Me (WIP)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8567434)   
[The Way (2018 DCBB)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16476323)   
[Pieces of Dean (2017 DCBB)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276204)   
[Hunt for a Healing Halo (2017 Destiel Big Bang)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473023)
> 
> **Short Fics (<30,000 words)**   
[He Blinded Me With Science (2017 Destiel Writers & Readers Spring Challenge)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10384875)   
[What More Could You Want?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9799130)   
[At ONE Ment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222885)   
[Recruited](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8414758)   
[Behind Blue Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8271752)   
[Destiel Ficlets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9464636)   
[If I Forget You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645005)


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